Leaving Rimfire
by WillowDryad
Summary: "You're gonna have to shoot through me to get to him, Jarrod." Nick Barkley (Days of Wrath)
1. Part One

**LEAVING RIMFIRE  
**

**An Alternate Ending to "Days of Wrath."**

Disclaimer: Jarrod, Nick and Heath Barkley and all of the characters and situations in _The Big Valley _are the property of their copyright holders and are, sadly, not mine. I'm only borrowing them.

**Part One**

Jarrod forced Cass Hyatt's head under the murky water, his face expressionless, perfectly still, his eyes seeing nothing but a fresh grave. He locked his arms, straight and unyielding, feeling nothing as Hyatt thrashed and kicked in his grasp, waiting as the smaller man's struggles weakened.

Still he waited.

A few seconds more, and it would be done. It would be done, and then—

Out of nowhere, someone dragged him backward, throwing him aside into the arms of someone else. That someone else was Nick. It was Nick who shoved him away. And Hyatt was huddled at Heath's feet on the edge of the boardwalk, gasping and dripping, alive. Alive.

Jarrod's vision reddened with rage, and he drew his gun. "Get away from him!"

Nick stood unmoving between him and Hyatt, between him and his right. His need.

"Get away from him!"

"You're gonna have to shoot through me to get to him, Jarrod."

Jarrod stood there, his eyes locked on his brother's. He heard the crack of a shot. Then there was another explosion, and everything went black.

OOOOO

Jarrod didn't try to open his eyes. If he did, he was sure the top of his head would come off. Sick. So sick. He'd be sicker, he knew, if he had to look into the light.

Voices. Voices he didn't know. Voices maybe he knew. Sick. So sick.

"The doc said he took one in the shoulder and another in the gut," one of them said.

"Yeah. What did you tell Jarrod?"

"I haven't told him anything. He hasn't been awake since it happened."

"You hit him pretty hard. Is he hurt?"

"I don't think so. Headache maybe, but that's the least of his troubles. I wasn't trying to do anything but keep him from hurting anybody else."

"I need to see him."

Jarrod thought the first voice was vaguely familiar. The second one he knew. Heath. What was Heath doing here?

"Be careful," the first voice said. "I don't know what he was like before all this, but I wouldn't get too close now, no more than I would to a rabid wolf."

"Hyatt killed his wife. They'd been married six days."

"That's rough. He just made it rougher."

Jarrod finally placed the first voice. The sheriff. Well, Jarrod had known what he was doing, and he'd done just what he'd set out to do. He'd chosen this. He wanted it. Wanted it as much as he had wanted Beth. There was nothing left for him now that she was gone. He was dead already. A rope would only make everyone else face up to the fact.

He heard a door open, footsteps coming close.

"Jarrod?"

He didn't speak. He didn't open his eyes.

"Jarrod."

"Go away, Heath." His voice sounded as dead as he felt. "There's nothing you can do here now. Go away."

"Do you realize what you've done?" There was deep pain in Heath's soft voice.

"What I meant to do. Go home, Heath. It's over."

"I don't believe that, Jarrod. You can't have meant to."

Jarrod shoved himself into a sitting position, reeling from the sudden explosion of pain inside his skull. He finally managed to make the cell stop spinning long enough to glare at his youngest brother through narrowed eyes.

"I meant to, Heath," he growled. "I meant to do exactly what I did."

"Jarrod, do you even remember what happened?"

Jarrod stared at him. Maybe he didn't remember everything. Somebody, the sheriff, had tried to knock his head off afterward. He swayed to his feet.

Heath reached through the bars as if he wanted to steady him, but he quickly dropped his hands. "Nick and I rode up when you were trying to drown Hyatt."

Hyatt had struggled, but every bit of the hate and rage that had surged through Jarrod since Beth's death had made him strong and relentless. Hyatt hadn't stood a chance.

"Do you remember us dragging you off him?" Heath asked as Jarrod grasped the bars in front of him. "You pulled your gun."

"_You're gonna have to shoot through me to get to him, Jarrod."_

"I remember." Jarrod's voice was cold. Matter of fact. He remembered. He remembered two shots before everything went black. "And I shot Hyatt."

Heath shook his head. "Hyatt's not hurt. The sheriff's got him locked up in the other cell."

Jarrod glanced at the solid wall that divided the two spaces. For the first time since he'd left home he didn't know how many days ago, he felt a flicker of uncertainty. "The sheriff said he was shot. In the shoulder and in the gut."

"Not Hyatt, Jarrod. Nick."

"Nick?" Jarrod hadn't thought he could grip those bars any tighter, but he did.

"The one in the shoulder, it's all right. It went through. The doctor says it didn't break anything. But the other— the other—" Heath drew a hard breath. "Doc says Nick might not make it. He needs to get the bullet out, but he's not sure Nick's strong enough."

"Hyatt shot him?"

Jarrod fought to remember. The sheriff had shoved Hyatt out into the street. He'd had a gun. Didn't have a gun.

"He threw his gun into the street," Jarrod said, suddenly remembering how the coward had pled for protection, remembering him confessing to Beth's murder, remembering the fury that had boiled up inside himself then. _"I'll kill you with my bare hands."_

"Jarrod—"

"Hyatt didn't have a gun." Jarrod's hold on the cell bars tightened even more, tightened until he thought his hands would break. "He didn't have a gun. How'd he shoot Nick?"

"Jarrod," Heath said, his voice as full of pity and pain and bewilderment as it was full of anger. "Jarrod, _you_ shot Nick."

"No," Jarrod breathed, shaking his head, stirring up the stabbing lights behind his eyes. "No."

"_You're gonna have to shoot through me to get to him, Jarrod."_

"The sheriff hit you with his gun butt, trying to stop you."

The back of Jarrod's head throbbed.

"I couldn't come see you till now," Heath said. "I had to see Nick was looked after."

"_You're gonna have to shoot through me."_

"Heath—"

"Was the hate so important, Jarrod?" Health's white lips trembled. "So much more important than everything you love?"

Jarrod remembered Nick standing there between him and Hyatt, grave and steady. Unmoving. There had been no sympathy in the hazel eyes. No pleading. Only quiet determination.

"_You're gonna have to shoot through me."_

And Jarrod had shot. He could see it now as if it were lit by a photographer's flash powder, the image that had been the last before the darkness took him, Nick's astonished expression as he crumpled to the ground.

"_Was the hate so much more important than everything you love?"_

Still clinging to the bars, Jarrod sank to his knees, his head dropping to his chest and pounding like an approaching freight train. Heath was still talking, but Jarrod could only hear Nick's low growl.

"_You're gonna have to shoot through me. You're gonna have to shoot through me. Shoot through me. Shoot through me. Shoot through me."_

Heath was trying to pry his fingers off the bars above him, but Jarrod held on, held on knowing he would shatter into pieces if he let go.

"Jarrod. Jarrod!" Heath shook him, pulling at his wrists, pushing his shoulders. "Jarrod!"

Jarrod curled in on himself, his grip so tight he was sure either the bars would break or he would. Was the hate so important? He'd left Mother brokenhearted, he knew. He could tell Heath was grieving, hurting, too. And Nick—

A face full of cold water made him fall back, gasping, to the cell's dirt floor.

"Go on in," the sheriff said, and the key clanked in the lock. "If you're sure you want to."

Then Heath was at his side, helping him stand, guiding him to the bunk.

"Jarrod, don't—"

"Don't touch me!" Jarrod shoved him away, his back to the corner, water dripping from his hair and down his face. "Get out of here and don't come back!"

"Jarrod—"

"Get out!"

"Come on." The sheriff took hold of Heath's arm and pulled him through the door. Then he locked it behind him. "Maybe later you can try again."

"Don't come back!" Jarrod glared at his youngest brother. "Get out of here, Heath, before I kill you!"

Heath pressed his lips together, and with a little nod, he walked away. Giving his prisoner a wary look, the sheriff followed him out.

Jarrod slumped against the corner of his cell once they were gone, suddenly too weak to stand.

"Before I kill you," he murmured. "Before I kill you, too."

**Author's Note: **_**Days of Wrath **_**has always been one of my very favorite episodes, and Vol lady's exquisite **_**Loving Beth **_**(go read it! go now!) has made me wonder what would have happened if, in his all-consuming rage, Jarrod had actually shot Nick instead of backing down at the end. **


	2. Part Two

Disclaimer: Jarrod, Nick and Heath Barkley and all of the characters and situations in _The Big Valley _are the property of their copyright holders and are, sadly, not mine. I'm only borrowing them.

**Part Two**

Jarrod crouched in the corner of his cell, forcing himself to stay on his feet until Heath and the sheriff were out of sight. He'd shot Nick. Shot him. Dear God in heaven. He couldn't think. Couldn't, couldn't think.

"Hey, Barkley."

Jarrod heard the whining voice from the other side of the wall.

"Barkley."

"Shut up, Hyatt," Heath snapped.

"No, listen—"

"You don't have to talk to him," the sheriff put in.

"I just wanted to tell you something," Hyatt said.

The sheriff huffed. "I've got work to do, Mr. Barkley. You can stay if you want. Pick up your gun belt when you're done."

Jarrod heard only one pair of boots walk away.

"What do you want, Hyatt?" Heath asked when there was quiet.

"Just to thank you for what you did. For saving my life."

"For all any of us care, you can rot."

"Now, no need to be uncivil, boy. I just want to thank you is all, especially after what happened to your other brother. You know, gut-shot and everything. It was a nice thing you did for me."

"We didn't do it for you." There was fierce anger in Heath's soft voice. "We did it for Jarrod."

Jarrod waited until the door between the cells and the sheriff's office opened and slammed shut before he slid down to the floor and drew his knees up to his chin, his mind racing. They hadn't wanted to save Hyatt. They'd wanted to save him. And he'd repaid them with what?

"Oh, Beth," he whispered, eyes burning, wishing for the millionth time since she had been killed that he could cry. But everything inside him was molten flame. Every tear had been boiled away by fury, by mindless, animal rage. And because he had let that rage drive him, Hyatt was still alive, and Nick—

"Barkley?"

Jarrod's whole body recoiled at the sniveling voice.

"I know you can hear me, Barkley," Hyatt called. "I could hear what your brother was telling you just now."

Jarrod didn't answer. Didn't move.

"You were right to tell that boy to get out, Barkley. Looks like being close to you is a dangerous thing. That woman wouldn't have died if she hadn't been yours. You know that, don't you?"

Jarrod buried his face in his arms. Hadn't he told himself that over and over and over again?

"And now your brother. What's his name? Nick? Yeah, Nick. Gut-shot, they say. That's too bad. I've seen it before. Bet you have, too. A man who's gut-shot rots from the inside out and dies slow and painful. It's too bad. But, yeah, you told that boy right. The farther he stays from you, the safer he'll be.

"Shut up," Jarrod muttered under his breath, knowing there was nowhere he could hide from the too-true taunts. "Shut up. Shut up. Shut up."

"Barkley? Are you listening to me, Barkley? Hey, Barkley!"

Jarrod wrapped his arms around himself, his plea barely a whisper. "Make him shut up. Dear God—"

But the heavens were brass.

"Funny the two of us both being here, isn't it, Barkley. But maybe not, seeing's how we're so alike. I tried to kill you. You tried to kill me. But you've got me beat now. Sounds like you'll turn out to be the only murderer here."

Something inside Jarrod exploded, and he hurled himself against the bars. "You killed my _wife_!"

"Wasn't me, Barkley. I told you."

Jarrod could just see the smug face, the twist in the thick lips, the taunt in the china-blue eyes. "You admitted it! The whole town heard you!"

"But that was when you had a gun on me. Anyone would confess to anything at that point. That's what the jury will believe. I'll walk out of here, Barkley, knowing you can never come after me again. Free as air. Free to come watch you hang for murdering your brother."

Jarrod swallowed hard. It was what he had wanted. All this time since Beth died, he'd wanted to die, too. But Nick—

"They'll believe me, boy. After what you did, seven years ago and now. After what you did to him, your own brother. They'll know you didn't care whether or not I was guilty. They'll know you didn't need proof to hunt me down and try to murder me." He chuckled softly. "Funny how things change, isn't it."

Change. Less than three weeks ago Jarrod was coming home from Washington, eager to see his mother. His sister. His brothers. Nothing in his plans but continuing on with the life he knew. Then he had met Beth, and his life was new again, new and then gone, like the glorious streak of a comet. Now he was some kind of monster, some murderous thing with a lust for killing. It had been days since he'd looked into a mirror. Even for the funeral—

He shuffled back to the bunk and sank down on it. Even for the funeral, he hadn't looked into a mirror. He hadn't wanted to see death in the face that looked back at him. Nick had shaved him and helped him wash. Heath had tied his tie and put in his gold cufflinks. Mother had combed his hair, standing behind him as he sat slumped in a chair, and he hadn't even heard her words of comfort or felt her gentle caresses. And that had been just the beginning, now— Now what would he see if he passed a looking glass?

"Now you're the murderer," Hyatt said from the other side of the wall. "Isn't that right, Barkley? Barkley! Hey, Barkley!

Jarrod dropped his head into his hands.

OOOOO

Heath braced himself against one of the posts in front of the doctor's office, knowing he wouldn't be any use to Nick or anybody else, not shaking as bad as he was. In the time he'd known Jarrod, he'd seen him sick and hurt and furious and too tired to stand, but the man in that jail was someone he didn't recognize. Someone terrifying.

He knew Jarrod had loved Beth, adored her, delighted in her. He'd known it from the first minute he'd seen them together. Even now, he couldn't imagine the fathomless well of grief his oldest brother had been plunged into. But for him to shoot Nick—

Heath had been frozen in place, the tension electrifying the air as Nick told Jarrod he'd have to shoot him to get to Hyatt. Evidently, Hyatt had thought that moment, when everyone seemed to have forgotten he existed, was a pretty good time to try to escape. Heath had glanced down at the slight movement, and in that instant, Jarrod had fired two shots. Heath had looked up to see both of his brothers crumple to the ground. The sheriff was standing over Jarrod, his gun turned backward in his hand. Blood was already pooling around Nick. Everything was over.

Heath looked out into the purples and oranges of the setting sun, helpless to know what to do for either of them. Nick was bad off. If the doctor hadn't said so anyway, Heath would have known it. It wasn't right for his boisterous brother to be so deathly still. And Jarrod—

Heath squeezed his eyes shut, remembering the terrifying fury in his oldest brother's red-rimmed eyes._ "Get out of here, Heath, before I kill you."_ They'd cheated him, he and Nick, they'd cheated Jarrod out of the only thing that meant anything to him anymore. Hyatt's death. Nick had paid for that already. Heath couldn't be sure that Jarrod would stop there. He couldn't be sure of anything anymore.

"Mr. Barkley?"

Heath turned to face white-haired Dr. Saxton standing in his office doorway.

"You'd better come in."

Heath had to force his shaking hand to relax it's hold on the post before he could release it, but then he followed the doctor inside.

The doctor led him to the small room off the back of the office where he evidently kept patients who needed full-time care. Nick was there, lying on the bed, his eyes closed, his mouth slightly open. Helpless. Vulnerable. The blanket was pulled up to his waist. Above that, Nick was swaddled in bandages, his right arm and shoulder immobilized, his middle—

He'd been hit on the right side just below his rib cage, and Heath hadn't believed the amount of blood that had already poured into the dirt before he could get to him and plug up the welling hole with Nick's bandana. The sheriff had dropped to one knee, pressing two fingers to Jarrod's throat before standing again and turning his gun the right way around.

"All right, Hyatt," he said, his voice low and angry. "Get over here before I save the county the cost of a trial." He grabbed Hyatt's arm when the man shambled over to him and pressed the barrel of his gun into his still-wet back. "Hiram, get Doc Saxton over here, while I lock this one up."

Evidently this Hiram had done as he was told, because the next minute the doctor was hurrying across the street.

"Let me see," he said, pulling Heath's hands away.

At that, Nick gasped and his eyes flew open. "Jarrod!"

Crouched beside him, Heath had grabbed his flailing hand, holding him still as best he could. "Nick, it's all right. Shh. The doctor's here. He's going to take care of you. It's all right."

Nick looked around, dazed, terrified. "Jarrod shot—"

"It's all right."

Nick's eyes finally lighted on Jarrod, still lying in the street where he'd fallen. "Dead."

The word came out on a breath, and then the hazel eyes fluttered closed and Nick was still. Heath looked frantically at the doctor.

"Passed out." The doctor seized Heath's hand and shoved it against the wad of bandages under Nick's rib cage. "Keep pressure on that. All you've got. Two of you men, help us."

They got Nick over to the doctor's office, into his back room, and then the doctor's wife came in to help. It seemed a long time before the worst of the bleeding stopped.

"You'd better get out for now," the doctor said then. "I'll send somebody to get you when I know something."

"But—"

"You'd better see to that other brother of yours. I don't know if there's much to be done for this one."

_Helpless_, Heath thought now in the deepening twilight, looking down at one brother, thinking of the other, knowing he could do nothing for either of them. Nothing but pray.


	3. Part Three

Disclaimer: Jarrod, Nick and Heath Barkley and all of the characters and situations in _The Big Valley _are the property of their copyright holders and are, sadly, not mine. I'm only borrowing them.

**Part Three**

The lamp by Nick's bedside barely lit his bloodless face. Heath couldn't see much more than the dark curves of his lashes against his pale cheeks and the stark white of his bandages. He hadn't moved since he'd passed out that morning, out there in the street. Now it was nearly dawn.

The doctor had gone to bed a few hours before, telling Heath to call him if Nick woke, but he hadn't looked as though he expected his sleep to be disturbed. Heath had settled himself into the ladder-back chair next to the bed, more tired than he could ever remember being, but too on edge to sleep. What could he do?

"Help me," he pled into the darkness. "God, help me. Help Nick. Jarrod. All of us."

His only answer was silence.

He bowed his head, not in prayer but in desolation. Alone. He hadn't felt so alone since he had come to Stockton and taken his place at the ranch, since he'd found a family that accepted him and brothers who'd stand by him no matter what. Now it seemed he was going to lose both of those brothers. Maybe it would have been better to have never met them than to lose them now, especially like this.

He pushed back the unruly dark hair from his brother's forehead. Nick was just as hot as he had been five minutes earlier. Hotter maybe. With a sigh, Heath picked up the crumpled cloth by the lamp, dunked it in the nearby basin and then patted Nick's face and neck with it. Still he didn't move.

Heath set down the cloth and took Nick's hand, the gesture reminding him of when he had held that hand out in the street, when Nick had finally seen Jarrod face down in the dirt beside him.

"_Dead."_

"God," Heath pled, hardly able to choke out the words, "don't make me tell Mother that was the last thing he said. At least let us say goodbye."

Slowly, so slowly that he didn't realize at first, Nick's fingers tightened around his. Heath drew a startled breath and squeezed his free hand over their clasped ones.

"Nick? Nick, can you hear me?"

Again he felt those fingers tighten in response, and then Nick groaned softly.

"You're all right," Heath assured him. "I'm right here. Right here."

"Jarrod?" Nick rasped out, and then he tried to lick his parched lips. "Water."

Heath grabbed the half-full glass next to the basin and lifted Nick's head enough for him to drink some.

"It's me. Heath. Jarrod's . . . not here."

"Dead," Nick said with a soft little sob that barely moved his chest.

Heath grabbed his hand again. "No, Nick. No. He's not. He's not dead."

"Saw him." Nick tried to pull away and couldn't. "Don't lie."

Those helpless little moans, hardly able to be heard in the night silence, came regularly now, and tears slipped from the corners of his eyes, tracking each other into his black hair.

Wanting to cry himself, Heath slid his arm behind his brother's head, holding him as best he could without causing pain.

"Listen to me, Nick. Listen. Jarrod's alive. I swear it. I swear."

"My fault," Nick breathed. "Didn't stop him. At home."

Nick had told him what had happened before the two of them left home to go after Jarrod. After Beth's funeral, he'd tried to stop Jarrod from leaving the ranch, tried to stop him from going after Hyatt. Ice cold, Jarrod had knocked him out with one punch and left him on the gun room floor, left him for Mother to find.

"None of this is your fault," Heath said, blotting Nick's face with the wet cloth again. "None of it."

"Got in his way," Nick said, his shallow breaths coming faster, his face twisted with pain. "My fault. Couldn't stop him."

"I have to get the doctor," Heath said, trying to stand, but Nick managed to grab hold of his sleeve.

"Can't help— this." Nick groaned weakly, and there was suddenly a blotch of red spreading through the bandage around his midsection. "Stay. Stay with me, Heath."

"Doctor!" Heath shouted. "Doctor Saxton!"

Nick trembled. "Hurts."

"Doctor Saxton!"

Nick's hold on Heath's sleeve was loosening. "Tell Mother. Tell Mother— sorry. Couldn't stop— Jarrod."

"Nick," Heath pled. "Doctor!"

The door opened, and Dr. Saxton hurried into the room, his bag in his hand and his striped nightshirt stuffed halfway into his pants.

He turned up the lamp. "Let me over there."

He pulled Nick's hand away from Heath's sleeve, and Heath moved to one side, watching the doctor's face as he bent over the bed. All he could see there was concern and grim pity.

"Now, take it easy there, young man," Dr. Saxton told Nick, his voice firm and distinct. "Let me see what's happened."

The doctor cut away the blood-soaked bandage. As soon as he tried to pull the dressing away from the wound, Nick gasped and went limp.

The doctor exhaled heavily and rummaged in his bag for carbolic and fresh bandages. As quickly as he could, he cleaned the wound, made a fresh dressing, and bound it with another bandage. Then he took Nick's pulse and pressed one practiced hand against his forehead.

"What did he say?"

"He—" Heath drew a shaky breath. "He thinks Jarrod's dead, and he thinks it's his fault. I couldn't get him to believe anything else."

"He's weakening."

"He's— He's letting go, I could feel it." Heath hesitated. "He needs to see Jarrod."

The doctors white eyebrows went up. "Do you think that's safe? Your brother Jarrod's the one who shot him. Can you trust him with—"

"I know." Heath raked both hands through his hair. "I don't know what else to do. You might not believe it now, but he and Nick— Well, there's not anything Jarrod wouldn't do for Nick or Nick for Jarrod. I still can't believe what happened this morning. I keep telling myself it was a mistake or I'm out of my mind or something. There's something I'm not understanding. Jarrod's been through all kinds of hell in the past few days, but I still can't believe—"

"_Get out of here, Heath, before I kill you!"_

Heath steeled himself against the memory, against the wild fury in his oldest brother's eyes. "What else can we do?"

"You may be right." The doctor took off his spectacles and rubbed his weary eyes. "I can tell you one thing for certain. If I don't get that bullet out in the next few hours, your brother there is going to die."

Heath put the back of his hand to Nick's feverish cheek.

"But if I operate," the doctor said, "and he doesn't have the will to recover, he won't likely last the day anyway."

OOOOO

The pale yellow light of morning was spilling over the town when Heath pounded on the door of the sheriff's office. The sheriff opened up at once, coffee cup in hand, concern in his long face.

"What happened? Your brother?"

"Still alive," Heath said. "I need to see Jarrod."

The sheriff stroked his ginger-colored mustache. "Are you sure he wants to see you?"

"He's got to. It's urgent."

"Suit yourself."

The sheriff took Heath's gun again. Then he got his keys from his desk and unlocked the door to the holding area.

Hyatt looked up from his tin plate and grinned when he saw who had come to call. "Well, well. Back for more, I see."

"Keep your mouth shut," the sheriff warned as he and Heath walked past.

Jarrod was sitting on his bunk, staring at the bars, seeing nothing. There was an untouched plate of food at his feet.

Heath steeled himself before he said anything, unable to shake the memory of the last time he was here. But Jarrod didn't look now as if he were ready to explode. He only looked dazed.

"Jarrod?" Heath said softly.

Jarrod didn't respond.

The sheriff shook his head. "I'll leave you to it."

"Jarrod," Heath repeated, after the door back to the office opened and closed again. "Please, Jarrod. It's about Nick."

Jarrod didn't move. "He's dead."

"No."

Finally, Jarrod lifted his head, fixing wary eyes on Heath. "I told you not to come back."

"Nick needs you, Jarrod. The doctor says he's getting weaker. He needs to get that slug out of him, but he's afraid—" Heath's voice broke. "Nick isn't fighting this. He's given up."

Jarrod's hands tightened on the metal frame of his bunk. "That's not Nick."

"No. No, it isn't. But he thinks— Jarrod, he thinks you're dead. He saw you laying in the street yesterday, and he thinks it's his fault."

Jarrod's lips quivered, but then he pressed them into a hard line. "There's nothing I can do."

"You could come see him, Jarrod. I know the sheriff would let you. Nick wouldn't listen to me, but he'll listen to you, I know it. Even if he wouldn't listen, he'd see you weren't dead. He'd know nothing was his fault."

Jarrod leapt to his feet, and Heath couldn't help flinching away from him.

"You see?" Jarrod said, his smile cold and bitter. "You're afraid of me. You ought to be afraid of me. I kill everything I touch. Beth. Nick. Get out of here, Heath. Get out and stay away. I don't want to kill you, too."

"But Nick—"

"I can't help Nick." Jarrod shuffled back to his bunk and lay down facing the wall. "I can't help anybody."

Heath stood there, it must have been five or six minutes more. Finally, catching a shaky breath, he walked away.

OOOOO

Jarrod lay on his bunk, facing the wall, seeing nothing. No, that wasn't right. What he saw was that indelible image of Nick at the instant he first realized he'd been shot, the moment he first realized who had shot him. There had been nothing in his eyes but disbelief.

Nick was going to die. He was going to die. _Everything I touch dies._ Jarrod could feel the limp dreaded softness of Beth as she lay dead in his arms. She ought to be in Denver teaching school, not lying in a box under the ground. Nick should be at home where Jarrod left him, willing or not, not rotting from the inside out in a two-bit doctor's office in a two-bit little town. He would have been safe at home. Heath ought to cut his losses and go back there himself. Mother was going to need him.

Jarrod squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to remember the desolation in Heath's eyes, the agony in his voice. He would never leave Nick to die alone. Jarrod knew Heath would do anything for Nick. Once upon a time, he would have done anything for Jarrod, too.

"You know, Barkley . . . "

Jarrod's gut clenched at the voice from the other cell.

"This is even better than seeing you hang. Hanging lasts only a second or two. This, heh, this'll eat at you all the way to the gallows. Your brother thinks you're dead and it's his fault. Kinda funny, isn't it? And he'll die thinking it. Ain't that just about the funniest thing you've ever heard? Ain't it, Barkley? Barkley, are you listening to me?"

"_I can't help anybody."_

Was that the truth?"

Jarrod pushed himself out of the bunk, grabbed the tin plate and dumped the untouched contents on the dirt floor. Then he raked the plate over the bars.

"Sheriff! Sheriff! Get him back! Get Heath!


	4. Part Four

Disclaimer: Jarrod, Nick and Heath Barkley and all of the characters and situations in _The Big Valley _are the property of their copyright holders and are, sadly, not mine. I'm only borrowing them.

**Part Four**

"Mr. Barkley!"

Heath stopped there in the middle of the street, drawing a stare from the skinny Mexican boy sweeping the boardwalk in front of the dry goods store.

"Mr. Barkley!" the sheriff called again, and Heath turned. There was something like hope in the man's long face as he waved Heath back toward his office.

Heath loped over to him.

"Your brother's asking for you."

"Jarrod?"

Heath pushed past the sheriff and went inside, stripping off his gun belt and throwing it on the desk just as the sheriff unlocked the door that led to the jail cells. He went through, and the sheriff locked the door behind him. Hyatt glared from his bunk, frowning and wary now rather than smug, but Heath didn't have time to wonder about him. He moved on to where Jarrod was standing, clinging to the bars of his cell.

"Heath."

He looked worse than ever now, sick and scared and worn right through and still with that tautness in every muscle of his body that said he might snap at any moment.

Heath looked at him expectantly.

"I want to see him."

Heath wasn't sure anymore. He still didn't know this man who stared back at him with eyes that burned like red-hot iron.

"I want to see him, Heath."

Heath stared at him for another few seconds, remembering how much he had loved Beth, remembering how much he had loved Nick. Did he still? Or was he too broken inside to love anyone?

"I won't let you hurt him. Not again."

Before he could spring back, Jarrod seized two fistfuls of Heath's shirt front. "You gotta help me, Heath. I can't remember. Before, after, I have no memory of anything except the moment I shot him and that look on his face when he knew it. He didn't believe I would. I still can't believe I did, but I know I did. I can see him swaying from the first shot and then I know there must have been another when the sheriff hit me. Tell me what happened."

Heath had to force himself not to pull away. "I don't know."

"You have to know._" _Jarrod shook him. "_I_ have to know!"

Heath grabbed his wrists. "Jarrod, I'm sorry, I just don't know. You pulled your gun on Nick, and he was staring you down. Hyatt tried to squirm away while everybody was watching you. I looked down at him, just for a second, and there were two shots, one right after the other. When I looked up, all I saw was the both of you falling. Sheriff Fain was standing behind you holding his pistol, butt end in his hand. He couldn't have fired it. Nobody else had a gun drawn."

Jarrod looked at him as if he was going to bust into pieces. He didn't resist as Heath pulled his hands away from his shirt.

"Nick doesn't have time for us to figure it out now."

Jarrod nodded rapidly. "I'm— I'm sorry. I want to see him. Please."

Heath looked back toward the door. "Sheriff?"

The sheriff unlocked the door and walked over to Jarrod's cell.

"Would you let him come over to the doctor's office?" Heath asked. "I don't think Nick's gonna make it if you don't."

"You get one chance, Mr. Barkley," the sheriff told Jarrod. "You make even a hint of a wrong move, and I'll drag you back here and throw away the key. Understood?"

Again, Jarrod nodded.

"All right then. You sit down on that bunk and don't move till I get back."

Jarrod did as he was told.

The sheriff went into his office and came back with leg irons. "We got rules here," he said as he unlocked the cell door. "I don't have to like 'em, just follow 'em." He shackled Jarrod's ankles and then nodded toward the office. "I'll have to go with you."

Jarrod stood up and almost fell when he tried to take too long a step. Heath caught his arm and set him right and then walked with him, their steps slow and short. They passed Hyatt, passed into the office and then passed out into the street.

"Carter!" the sheriff called to a green-looking kid walking toward them. The kid had a deputy badge pinned to his red shirt. "We'll be over at doc's. You watch the office. If Hyatt gives you any trouble, you have my permission to hogtie him."

The kid grinned and went inside.

The doctor was standing on his front porch, watching for them. He shook his head when he saw Jarrod, and Heath knew he was probably concerned about more than the crease along Jarrod's left temple where Hyatt had shot him. Jarrod must have torn the bandage off, because there was nothing covering the raw wound. The doctor didn't comment on it.

"How's Nick?" Heath asked at once.

"He was awake briefly," the doctor said. "Asking for you." He looked at Jarrod. "Mr. Barkley, I can give you about five minutes, then I have to operate. I may have waited too long as it is."

Jarrod nodded and shuffled into the house.

OOOOO

Dr. Saxton's office was like a hundred others Jarrod had seen, the shabby genteel of the small-town doctor more often paid in eggs and potatoes than cash. Trembling inside himself as he made his halting way through it, Jarrod followed Heath to wherever they were keeping Nick. He was desperate to see his brother and at the same time terrified. His own words came back to him in insinuating whispers. _Everything I touch dies._

Heath still had him by the arm, urging him forward almost faster than the unfamiliar shackles would allow. The doctor opened the door to the back room, and Jarrod flinched away from the morning light flooding in from the window. The doctor's wife was sitting in the chair by the bed trying to get Nick to take down the water she was squeezing from a cloth. Nick wasn't responding.

"Caroline," the doctor said softly, "we'll need to prepare."

She got up, the cloth and the basin of water still in her hands.

Heath took them from her. "Thank you, ma'am. For everything. We'll see to him now."

She nodded, her dark eyes full of pity, and then she followed her husband into his office.

For a moment, the sheriff looked down at Nick. Then he shook his head and clasped Heath's shoulder. "I'll be right outside the door if you need me."

He glanced warily at Jarrod and then went out, shutting the door behind him.

Jarrod merely stood there, knowing there was nothing left inside him that could be broken, but feeling something break all the same and longing again for the relief of the tears he knew wouldn't come. Nick was so still, so pale. It wasn't right. Nick was all eager, blustering life, all stubbornness and passion and joy, a blazing flame that could warm as well as burn. Now that flame was barely a flicker. Unable to do anything else, Jarrod sank into the chair the doctor's wife had vacated.

"Time's running out," Heath said when Jarrod didn't move. Then he thrust the basin and cloth into Jarrod's hands and knelt at Nick's side. "Nick? Can you hear me? Jarrod's here."

Not knowing what else to do, Jarrod dunked the cloth into the basin and wrung out most of the water. Then he touched it to Nick's lips.

Heath took Nick's hand in both of his own. "Jarrod's here, Nick. Come on."

No response.

Jarrod shoved the basin onto the nearby table and dropped the cloth into it. Then he put his hands on either side of Nick's face. How could he be so hot and still live?

"Nick." Jarrod said, the word coming out more harshly than he expected. "Nick?"

For a moment, Jarrod was sure there would still be no response. Then Nick took a gasping breath and barely opened his eyes.

Jarrod's throat tightened. "Nick?"

Nick stared at him for a long time, uncertain, and then there was a little twitch in one corner of his mouth that was meant to be a smile.

"I shoulda known it'd be you, Pappy. Thought maybe it'd be Father, but then you always were the one who came to get me when I was in a scrape."

"Nick, you listen to me." Jarrod made his voice as firm and clear as he was able. "You listen to me with everything you've got. I'm not dead. I'm right here. Heath's right here. We're gonna be right here until you're well enough to go home. Do you understand me, boy? You're gonna go home. Mother and Audra need you. Heath needs you. I—" Jarrod's throat closed on the words, and he couldn't continue.

Nick blinked and then opened his eyes wider. "Jarrod?"

He struggled to free his hand, and Heath let it go, watching as Nick reached up to touch their older brother's stubbled cheek to assure himself that this was no hallucination.

"Jarrod." Weary tears filled Nick's eyes. "'m sorry. I promised— promised Mother I'd bring you back home. Couldn't do it. Tell her 'm sorry."

Jarrod put his hand over Nick's and pressed it harder against his face. "None of this is your fault. I shot—" He was shaking so hard now, he could hardly talk. "I shot you. I guess I was so crazy to get to Hyatt, I shot you. And now, because of me, you're gonna—"

Nick shook his head and then groaned at the pain that brought him. "No, Jarrod. No. My fault. My fault. Got in your way."

"You were trying to save me."

Nick's hand slipped down to grasp the grimy collar of Jarrod's shirt. "Hyatt tried to run. I knew you were gonna shoot him and grabbed for the gun. You got my shoulder by accident."

Heath caught his breath. "Nick."

"Sheriff shot you from behind," Nick panted, his eyes fixed on his older brother's. "That was what made you shoot again. Reaction when you fell. Bullet caught me." Nick winced again, gritting his teeth. "My fault. Sorry."

"I'm not shot, Nick. I'm not—"

"The sheriff just knocked him out, Nick," Heath said, "trying to keep him from hurting you. He's all right, and you're gonna be all right. Promise me. Promise me you'll try."

"I'll be right here," Nick said, something a little stronger in the hazel eyes now, and he patted Jarrod's cheek again. "Right here with you both. Promise."

The door behind them opened.

"We're ready." The doctor's voice was grave and low. "You two'd better wait in the office."

Heath stood up, but Jarrod could only sit there, his mind whirling with what Nick had said. Accident. Reaction. Not—

"Jarrod." Heath took his arm. "We have to go." He gave Nick's good shoulder a gentle squeeze. "The doc's gonna get that bullet out of you now. Then you'll feel better. I'm gonna hold you to that promise, Brother Nick, y'hear?"

"Mmm," Nick said, blinking wearily.

Jarrod pushed himself to his feet. Nick had worn himself out trying to talk, and there wasn't much more to say just now. He leaned down beside Nick's ear. "And I'm gonna hold you to that promise you made Mother. I mean it, Nick."

Nick's eyes closed again.

"Mr. Barkley," the doctor urged.

Jarrod touched two fingers to Nick's cheek, the gesture tentative and brief, and then turned toward the door, almost falling again because of his forgotten shackles. With Heath's help, he shambled out of the room, and the door closed behind them.


	5. Part Five

Disclaimer: Jarrod, Nick and Heath Barkley and all of the characters and situations in _The Big Valley _are the property of their copyright holders and are, sadly, not mine. I'm only borrowing them.

**Part Five**

Heath held onto Jarrod's arm, afraid if he didn't that the shackles binding Jarrod's ankles would trip him up. As it was, Jarrod's movements were slow and unsure, as if he were alone and lost in a dense fog. He fell onto the battered settee rather than sat on it, and Heath wondered if what Nick had just said had gotten through to him. If only Jarrod would understand it. Believe it. As it was, Heath couldn't be sure. There was no way to read Jarrod's blank expression.

"How's your brother?" Sheriff Fain asked, nodding towards the door that separated them from the other room.

Heath knew he wasn't asking only about Nick.

"Doc's about to take that bullet out. I guess after that, we'll see."

"Yeah," the sheriff said. "I know this place doesn't look like much, but he's a good doctor, and his wife's not much less of one. Between the two of them, they do all right."

"Glad to hear it."

The sheriff considered for a moment. "A few years back, a boy, a drover about twenty, got shot up real bad in the saloon. As I recall, he had five, no, six bullets in him. Nobody thought Doc Saxton could do a thing for him, but it wasn't even two months later he—"

"I want to know."

Heath started. Jarrod had been perfectly still, perfectly silent, and now his voice was hard and clear.

"What exactly do you want to know, Mr. Barkley?" Fain asked with his usual deliberate calm.

"What happened. What happened yesterday morning."

"You were gonna shoot your brother to get to Hyatt, and I clipped you with the butt end of my gun. That's all."

"That's not what Nick says," Heath told him. "He says Jarrod was going for Hyatt before he got away, and Nick tried to stop him and got in Jarrod's way. That's when he was shot in the shoulder. Then, when you hit Jarrod, Jarrod's gun went off again and that's what got him the second time."

Jarrod was staring at the sheriff, that burning, driven look in his eyes, waiting for something. Anything.

"I didn't see Hyatt make his move," Fain told Heath, and then he nodded toward Jarrod. "I was waiting to see what _he_ was going to do the whole time, and then everything blew up in my face. I had to do something. I'd seen him with Hyatt before you and your other brother rode in. At that point, I figured there was nothing he wouldn't do to get at the man, even if it meant—"

That look in Jarrod's eyes hadn't changed.

"Even," the sheriff said, "if it meant shooting his brother to do it. With the both of them moving so quick, I didn't want to risk trying to wing him and accidentally hit your brother instead, but he shot fast and was about to shoot again. I was just trying to keep him from killing anyone. Looking back now, I can see how it might have happened the way your brother said, that this one was only trying to get at Hyatt before he got away." He rubbed one calloused hand over his mouth and moustache. "Now I guess I'm due my fair share of the blame for that man in there getting shot."

"Might have happened?" Jarrod snapped. "Or did happen?"

"I can only tell you what I saw, Mr. Barkley." There was sympathy in the sheriff's eyes and more than a little bit of regret. "That and that I'm sorry about how things turned out."

"You did the best you knew to do," Heath said softly.

"Yeah, well." The sheriff passed his hand over his mouth again. "I think I'd better keep an eye on the street for a while. I'll be right outside. You let me know what the doc says."

He walked out the front door and shut it behind him.

In the silence that followed, Heath could hear the low voices of the doctor and his wife as they worked, and he nodded toward the sound. "That's a good thing, isn't it."

When Jarrod didn't answer him, Heath sat down beside him on the settee.

"I mean, they still wouldn't be in there if, well, if Nick—"

"If he was dead?"

Jarrod's voice was stark and cold.

"Yeah," Heath murmured, and he stood up again. "Look, Jarrod, I know you're scared, because I am. Don't make this harder than it is."

Jarrod rested his clenched his fists on his knees. "I have to know, Heath. Before I can do anything else, I have to know."

"Nick told you what happened when—"

"Nick was out of his head! He thought Father was coming to get him!"

"Jarrod."

Jarrod leaned his head back against the wall, his eyes screwed shut, his fists still clenched, and then, with a heavy breath, he slumped a little.

"She loved flowers, did you know that?"

Heath knew who he meant. He hadn't spoken of Beth since that day he'd carried her body home from Isla de Cielo.

"She found those flowers outside our door that first morning after we'd come to the ranch, and she knew they were from you and Nick. She said they were wild flowers, and Mother would have left roses."

"It was Nick's idea." Heath let himself smile just the slightest bit. "Boy howdy, Jarrod, we must have spent more than an hour picking them. He woke me up before dawn with that big ol' basket Silas puts the linens in, and he wouldn't let us come back to the house until it was full to overflowing with those blue and yellow flowers that grow there along the creek bank."

"She said then that she didn't believe all that about Nick being so tough, that it was all just bluster, that he was really just . . ." Eyes still closed, Jarrod put one hand out in front of him as if he were reaching for something. "And that last day. Those flowers—"

His fist suddenly clenched and he pounded it against the side of his head again and again until Heath finally grabbed his wrist, both wrists, holding them until he quit struggling, until he was still except for the fitful heaving of his chest.

"I have to know, Heath," Jarrod said finally, and once more his voice was cold. "I have to know what I am. If I did that to Nick, I could do anything to anybody."

"You didn't know what you were doing. After Beth was killed—"

Jarrod's eyes flew open, all blue fire and fury. "I knew _exactly_ what I was doing. I wanted to kill Cass Hyatt, and I didn't care who I hurt so I could do it. How do I know what I might be capable of the next time something happens I don't like?"

"He's gonna hang, Jarrod. He confessed."

There was something terrible in Jarrod's smile. "Yes, that's the most amusing part of this. The law couldn't touch him before. It can't now. All he has to say is that he confessed because he feared for his life. They have no evidence against him. Nothing to hold him on. And if Nick dies, dear God, if Nick dies, I'll be the one swinging from a noose."

"What happened to Nick was an accident." Heath wanted to take his oldest brother by the shoulders and shake some sense into him. "Nick knows that. You didn't mean to hurt him. Not that way."

"You don't know, Heath. You didn't see. The sheriff didn't see. I can't remember. Maybe, at least for that split second, I would have rather had Nick and Hyatt both dead than both alive. If I could do that to Nick, what might I do to you? Or Audra? Or Mother? In just a split second?"

Heath couldn't honestly say he hadn't had those same fears. But he'd heard the grief and longing in Jarrod's voice when he spoke of Beth just now. He'd seen Jarrod with Nick before the doctor made him leave Nick's side, those little bits of tenderness when Jarrod was promising he would be there for Nick until he was able to go back home, that gentle, fearful touch against Nick's cheek before Jarrod had shuffled out of the room.

When Nick had told them what had happened out there on the street the morning before, Heath had latched on to the explanation with greedy hands, praying with all that was in him that it would be enough. Enough to make Jarrod see he wasn't the monster he thought he was. Enough to bring Jarrod, his brother Jarrod, back to them.

"Jarrod, we can get through this. I promise I'll do anything I can to help you. Anything. This'll all look different once we're all home."

Jarrod wouldn't look at him. "I can't go home, Heath. Not until I know for sure. Not until I know what I am."

"All right then. When Nick is better, he can tell you himself what happened. And then you can let it go."

"And if he dies?"

The question hung there in the tense air between them until the door to the back room opened and Dr. Saxton came out, wiping his hands and forearms with a blood stained cloth.

Jarrod caught his breath.

"Doctor?" Heath asked.

The doctor rolled down one sleeve and buttoned it at his wrist. "The good news is that I got the bullet out and stopped the bleeding."

"And the bad news?"

"He lost more blood than I would have liked to see, and I found more damage than I expected. I've done what I can to repair it, but the rest is up to him and the mercy of God."

"Can we see him?"

"For a minute or two only. He needs to rest."

Heath nodded. Jarrod was already on his feet, making his halting way toward the back room.

OOOOO

When the office door opened, Deputy Carter put his hand on the rifle laying across the sheriff's desk.

"Help ya?"

A stocky, gray-haired man wearing the work clothes of a dirt farmer stepped inside.

"My name's Cliff Hyatt. I want to see my brother."

The deputy looked him over, not letting go of the rifle. "What you got on you?"

"Nothing." Cliff held up both hands and let the deputy search him, hat, boots and all.

"All right." Carter gestured toward the door to the cells. "You can have five minutes."

He unlocked the door and let the man inside.


	6. Part Six

**Part Six**

Cliff Hyatt stood there for a moment, waiting for the deputy to go back into the office. His younger brother, Cass, lounged on the bunk on the other side of the bars, smirking at him.

"You tangle with a bobcat, boy?" Cass asked when they were alone.

Cliff rubbed his bruised jaw. "Jarrod Barkley came looking for you. Right after you left."

"Right after you threw me out," Cass said, but he was still smirking.

"I was afraid he'd kill you, wild as he was to get at you. I didn't know he'd be like that."

The smirk turned into a chuckle. "He about did kill me. Tried to drown me in that horse trough in front of the saloon."

"Doesn't sound like something to crow over."

"You don't get it, boy. He's under arrest the same as me." Cass nodded toward the wall. "He's been my next-door neighbor since then."

Cliff looked at the cell on the other side of the wall and found it empty.

"They took him over to the doc's," Cass explained.

"You got him first then." Cliff was surprised. Not surprised that Cass would try to kill Barkley— again, he supposed— but that Cass would best him in a fight.

"Didn't have to. Barkley fixed things for me. They're gonna have to let me go. Just like they did in Stockton. It's Barkley who's gonna hang, didn't you hear?"

"Cass—"

"He shot his own brother."

"No."

"Boy's over at the doc's dying right now. Barkley was determined to kill me, and his brother tried to stop him. Got right in his way."

"Cass, listen to me."

" Got a bellyful of lead for his trouble, too. Barkley'll hang for the killing, and I'll be free to watch it. Even an old maid like you ought to appreciate the humor in that."

"Cass, some men came by my place yesterday."

Cass still smirked. "Neighborly of 'em."

"A sheriff and some of his deputies."

Cass clicked his tongue. "Now just what have you been up to, boy?"

"They were from up at French Camp. They caught Jimmy Simms."

Cass sat up, eyes wide. He wasn't smirking anymore. "Jimmy—"

"That horse you had him take up there for you was one he stole. He'll swear to it in court. They won't hang him if he testifies against you, and he's sure testifying. They have proof now you rode that horse down from the camp and killed Barkley's wife."

"No." Cass shook his head wildly. "They only know Jimmy says I had him leave one up there for me. No proof I ever took it. No proof I ever saw it."

"What'd you ride into town, Cass?"

Cass swallowed hard.

Cliff swore. "Why didn't you at least get rid of it?"

"I— I couldn't! Barkley was after me every second."

Cliff paced for a minute. "I guess the sheriff has your horse now. If that horse has the Circle W brand like the ones Jimmy stole, they'll know. They'll know for sure."

"You gotta get it back." Cass came to the bars, reaching out to grab his brother's arm. "You gotta get that horse back. Get rid of it."

"How do I do that? If I even ask where that horse is, the sheriff'll know. He'll know it's the one they're looking for."

"But nobody's been here. Not yet. The sheriff doesn't know about Jimmy. He'd've questioned me if he did."

Cliff considered for a moment. "Yeah, I guess that's likely. I told those men I didn't know where you were, likely somewhere west from what you'd said. They took off that way. It's gonna take them a while to trace you back here. But I knew you were headed south."

Barkley had beaten him into the admission, and Cliff wasn't all that proud of it, but he'd thought being honest and reasonable would have counted for something with a man like that, an attorney and all. Obviously not. Not now.

"You gotta get me out, Cliff." Cass's fingers twisted into his sleeve. "They'll hang me. They'll hang me!"

Cliff only looked at him.

"This is all a mistake, I tell you. Okay, so Jimmy got me a horse. That was all, I swear. I didn't kill that—"

"Don't lie to me, Cass. For once in your miserable life, don't lie!"

"Okay, okay, I did. I shot her." Cass's lips pulled back in a terrified grin. "I shot her, but I didn't mean to. I never meant that. I was going for him. You can't let them hang me for a mistake, Cliff. You can't."

"You got yourself in here," Cliff said, throwing off his hand. "No fault of mine."

"You promised," Cass begged. "You promised Ma you'd look after me."

"Looks like I did a pretty sorry job of it."

"No, Cliff, listen. Listen to me! You have to get me out of here. Before those men get here and tell the sheriff about Jimmy. You have to!"

If those bars hadn't been between them, Cliff might have knocked his brother to his knees.

"Are you asking me to bust you out? Don't be a fool! I've never crossed the law, and you know that."

"Didn't seem to make much difference to Barkley, did it?" Cass was wheedling now. "He'd have killed you if you got in his way. He'd kill me if he could. He might still. All right, I made a mistake. A mistake! Are you gonna let them hang me for that?"

"I won't do it," Cliff hissed, glancing toward the locked door that led back to the sheriff's office. "I'd be running the rest of my life."

"And I won't have a life! Is that what you want?"

"I can't help you, Cass! What do you want me to do? Blast my way in here and bust you out and shoot anybody who gets in my way?"

"No." Cass laughed again, and this time the laugh was breathless and shaky. "No, no, just let me think. You wouldn't object to buying a horse, would you?"

"I have a horse."

"But you could buy another one, right?"

What was Cass up to now?

"I guess," Cliff admitted. "What for?"

"You could get it from one of the ranches. Not in town. And maybe keep him back of somewhere where nobody'd notice."

Cliff looked at him warily.

"And you could buy another one, too," Cass said. "From the livery this time. Tie him up with yours, right?"

"Cass, I don't know."

"What's wrong with that? Buying horses isn't illegal."

"No, but—"

"All right then. And you could go buy some supplies. I don't know, flour and corn meal, canned goods, I don't care. About a hundred and sixty or seventy pounds worth. You could do that."

Cliff snorted. "Where am I gonna get that kind of money?"

"You still got your watch."

Cliff's mouth dropped open. "That's Pa's watch. You can't mean for me to sell that."

"You don't think Pa would sell it, if it meant me not hanging?" There was an infuriating smugness on Cass' face.

"Just what are you thinking?" Cliff demanded.

"I'm thinking when it gets around eleven o'clock tonight, you could pack all those supplies on that livery horse and head back home as fast as you can ride. That's all."

"That's all?"

"Nothing to it," Cass said, his smirk finally returning. "And nothing illegal."

Cliff hesitated. There had to be something about this whole thing that was eventually going to blow up in his face. "What are you gonna do?"

Cass leaned close to his brother's ear. "I'm gonna get out of here and hightail it to Mexico. Just do this for me. Nothing illegal. Do it, and I swear I'll go for good."

Cliff looked at him for a long time, and then he finally nodded.

Cass's smirk turned into an honest-to-goodness grin. "Oh, and when you come see me 'round suppertime, I'd like to see you spruced up a little." He tugged his brother's collar, straightening it. "Can't rightly go calling if you're not spruced up."

Cliff frowned, more puzzled than ever.

"You know," Cass added, "when you're tying down all those supplies, you ought to cut about two foot off that cord you use and tie it around the crown of your hat. Saw a fellow the other day with his hat prettied up like that. Just a little something. Not ostentatious, as they say. Thought it would look good on you."

Dread lay leaden in Cliff's stomach. "No. I tell you, Cass, I won't do it. I won't do it!"

"Do what, boy? Nothing illegal about sprucing up a hat, is there? And I don't want anything else from you. Not a thing. What harm could it do? I mean, it's not too much to ask to keep your little brother from swinging, is it?"

Cliff swore again. "No killing, Cass. I mean it. No killing."

"You help me get out of here, and you won't have to worry about that. Now you go on. That deputy'll be in here before long."

Right on cue, there was the clank of the key in the door back to the office.

That dread in Cliff's stomach rose up into his throat. "This is the last, Cass. I mean it."

"That's your five minutes," the deputy said, and Cliff went to the door.

"See you 'round suppertime," Cass called to him. And he still smirked.

OOOOO

"He'll sleep a little while now," Dr. Saxton said.

Jarrod was slumped sideways in the ladder-back chair at Nick's bedside, a nearly empty cup in his limp hand. The doctor had coaxed him into taking something for his headache, and it wasn't until Jarrod had swallowed down most of the drink that he'd realized there was laudanum in it.

"Should we lay him down somewhere?" Heath asked, looking at his oldest brother's slack, haggard face, wondering if this was the first sleep he'd had since Beth was killed.

"Better leave him," the doctor advised. "I didn't give him much, just enough to put him under. Maybe after that his own exhaustion will take over and he'll get some natural sleep."

Heath laid one hand on the disheveled dark hair. "I hope so."

"You ought to get some rest, too, young man," the doctor said.

"I'm all right," Heath told him, glancing from Jarrod to Nick. "One of them might need something."

"You'd better have some more of this then," the doctor's wife said, coming in with the coffee pot. "If you're planning to stay up all night."

Heath managed a bit of a sheepish smile. "Thank you, ma'am."

He picked up the cup he had left on the windowsill and let her fill it for him. Then he sat on the side of the bed and studied Nick's still face, searching for any sign that he was improving, any sign that he might come around at least for a minute or two. There was nothing.

"We're going to have to be patient," the doctor said and not for the first time. "Sleep's the best thing for both of them. I know it doesn't seem like much, but for your middle brother there, the longer he holds out, the better his chances are. I expect he doesn't have the wherewithal to stay alive and talk to you, too."

"But does he seem any better, doc?"

"I couldn't say better," the doctor admitted. "But I wouldn't say worse either. I'd say he's holding on, and given the whole situation, I suppose that's a bit of a miracle in itself." He patted Heath's shoulder. "We have to just keep trying to cool him down and give him all the water he'll take. Morning comes and he's still with us, it may be he'll be all right."

Heath put down his coffee cup, picked up the wet cloth on the table by the bed, and pressed it against Nick's wrist. Wrists, forehead, throat, that's where the doctor had said the coolness would help most. Heath wished they were at home and he could get a chunk of the ice that would be in the icebox right now. And Silas could coax Jarrod into lying down in his own bed. And Mother—

Heath shook his head. No use thinking of home at this point. He had to keep his mind on here and now. Home would have to wait.

He pressed the cloth to Nick's forehead, and Nick drew a sudden quick breath. Heath froze where he was, and the doctor came quickly to stand beside him, but then Nick merely exhaled and the quiet rhythm of his breathing continued. The doctor smiled, gently, regretfully.

"Patience," he said, and then he and Heath both looked toward the front door.

Someone was knocking rapidly, and the doctor's wife was hurrying to answer. She let in the Mexican boy from the general store.

"Señora, please," the boy said. "The doctor must come at once. I was sent to tell you there was a fire at the Macon ranch. The fire is out, but there are many who are hurt. Please, he must come at once."

The doctor hurried to the door. "How do you know this, Mateo?"

"A man came from there. He sent me to tell you so he could go back and help."

"All right," the doctor said. "We'll be right along. You go on back home."

When the boy was gone, the doctor went out to harness his horse while his wife packed up supplies to treat the injured. Heath held the lantern for her and helped her into the buggy.

"There's nothing I can do for your brothers that you can't do," the doctor told him. "It's about fifteen miles out to the Macon place, so we might be a while. We'll be back as soon as we can, but until then, just carry on."

Heath nodded and watched them drive away. It was a little bit of a comfort when Sheriff Fain came into the doctor's office about half an hour later. That comfort didn't last long.

"Mr. Barkley," the man said, his face harsh and grim. "Hyatt's escaped."


	7. Part Seven

**Part Seven**

"Escaped!"

The sheriff took Heath's arm and pulled him back into the doctor's office. "No need telling the whole town just yet."

"What happened?"

There was cold fury in the sheriff's eyes. "I went back to my office a little while ago and found Hyatt's cell open and my deputy lying there dead."

That young kid with a deputy badge pinned to his red shirt. Dead.

"He'd been strangled with a length of cord. Fool kid. I told him to check everything. Everything every single time. I told him with the kind of men we usually had in the cells, it took only a second to get dead. I told him—" The sheriff broke off, looking upward for a taut moment. Then he exhaled. "I got some men together. It looks like two men rode out of here north, not an hour ago. Carter said Hyatt's brother came to see him earlier today, and the brother has a place north of here. Looks like they're headed there."

"A little too obvious, isn't it?" Heath asked.

"Maybe so, but we've got nothing else to go on."

Heath thought for a moment. "Could be the brother got a second horse and is leading it, just to make you think Cass is with him while Cass heads out the opposite direction."

"Got somebody checking as many possibilities as I can. He did buy a horse today at the livery, but there's somebody riding it. A riderless horse doesn't weigh the same, doesn't track the same."

Heath shrugged. "Guess not."

"Anyway, I need to see the doc. I need him to look after Carter. I don't want him just lying there on the floor."

"Dr. Saxton's gone to one of the ranches out of town," Heath said. "I can't remember what name they said, but there was a pretty bad fire, and they needed Doc to tend to the injured."

"All right. You tell him when he comes back."

Heath nodded.

"For now," the sheriff said, "I've got to get moving. I know night tracking isn't usually very helpful, but I'm hoping we'll get lucky and catch Hyatt before he gets far."

"If you're leaving town, sheriff, I'd like my gun back. I don't much like being without it."

Fain looked at Heath for a good long minute. "You ever been deputized?"

"A few times."

"Take an oath on it?" Fain asked.

"Yes, sir."

The sheriff looked at Heath again. "Ever break one of those oaths?"

"No, sir, never."

"Hold up your right hand."

The sheriff swore Heath in quickly, then he hurried back to the jail. When he came back, he handed Heath his gun and some handcuffs.

"I'm leaving you with my prisoner there. It's your duty to see he stays put till I get back."

Heath thought of Jarrod in his laudanum-and-exhaustion-induced sleep. "I don't think he could go anywhere even if he wanted to. And I see you're not leaving me the key to those leg irons."

"I saw him when he tried to kill Hyatt. I wouldn't make the mistake of thinking he won't carry on trying. You use those cuffs if you need to."

Heath nodded.

"All right then." The sheriff clasped Heath's shoulder. "I don't like leaving you here with the doc gone, but there's not too much I can do about that. My best advice would be you hunker down here and wait until we get back. I don't think Hyatt would be fool enough to come back here, no matter how much he wants to pay your brother off, but I've learned to never count on folks to do the logical thing. Keep your eyes open."

Heath followed the sheriff out onto Dr. Saxton's front porch and watched him walk into the darkness. A few seconds later, he heard the sounds of horses and men a little ways down the street. In a few seconds more, the street was quiet.

Heath strapped his gun around his hips, glad for the familiar comfort of it, and then leaned against a post, watching. Hyatt was loose again. It would be insane for him to come after Jarrod now. Maybe he'd come a few weeks from now. A few months or years even. But now he'd have to get out of Rimfire as quick as he could. He'd murdered that deputy, and there was nothing that'd save him from a noose after that. Nonetheless, as the sheriff had said, you never could tell.

Still, the street was quiet, and he knew he ought to go back inside and hunker down as the sheriff had advised. He needed to check on Nick and Jarrod anyway. Jarrod would be waking up before long, and there wasn't a Chinaman's chance he'd wake up in an agreeable mood.

Heath turned to go back inside when he heard something at the side of the house. It wasn't much. Maybe a stray cat or something. Maybe not. He put his hand on his gun and squinted into the darkness.

"Barkley," someone hissed behind him.

Heath spun, but before his gun cleared the holster, everything went black.

OOOOO

Jarrod struggled against the images that swirled in his head. Beth lying in his arms the first night they were married. Beth lying in his arms in the bloody grass up at Isla de Cielo. Nick lying on the floor of the gun room at home and lying in a narrow bed in the back room of a two-bit doctor's office, sweating and bleeding his life out. And Hyatt, always Hyatt, taunting him from someplace he couldn't see. _"Barkley. Hey, Barkley! That woman wouldn't have died if she hadn't been yours. A man who's gut-shot dies slow and painful. Now you're the murderer. Isn't that right, Barkley? Barkley! Hey, Barkley!"_

He shook his head, realizing someone was patting his cheek.

"Hey, Barkley."

A hard slap made the room spin around him. With a gasp, he tried to lunge to his feet but he was pulled back by the handcuffs that bound his wrists to the arm of his chair. Cass Hyatt was sitting on the edge of Nick's bed with the barrel of Heath's gun an inch or so away from Jarrod's nose. And he was smirking.

"Wakey, wakey."


	8. Part Eight

**Part Eight**

"Evenin', Barkley."

Jarrod stared down the barrel of Hyatt's gun. Heath's gun. "Where's my brother?"

"Heath, isn't it?" Hyatt looked thoughtfully at the gun, the specially made gun with a golden eagle on the polished handle, the one Jarrod had given Heath for his birthday over a year ago. "Now, this is a fine shootin' iron. A fine one. A man doesn't give up an iron like this easy. But like I told you before, you were right to tell that boy to clear out. Being around you ain't healthy. Too bad he didn't believe you before it was too late."

_Everything I touch dies. _Jarrod shoved the thought away. Men like Hyatt fed on pain and fear. Jarrod wasn't going to oblige him. But, Heath— Dear God, Heath.

He tugged at the handcuffs that held him in the chair and then stopped, seeing Hyatt's twisted grin. "I guess we both know what you want."

Somehow, his voice came out steady and strong.

"You got me all wrong, Barkley," Hyatt told him, his expression all wounded innocence. "I don't want to kill you."

Jarrod clenched his jaw.

"I thought I did." Hyatt nodded solemnly. "Seven long years, I thought that was just what I wanted. And when I killed that woman, your woman, I swear to the Almighty, it was an accident. But seeing you since then, hearing what you said when you were locked up next to me, I realized killing you wasn't the way. If I kill you, then you don't feel any more pain. You're out of my reach for good. But this way?" He laughed soundlessly. "Oh, this way, I get to watch you squirm and writhe, knowing everybody that means anything to you is paying for what you did to me. Seven long years you made me suffer, so it's only right you ought to suffer the rest of your natural days. Now what could be better than that?"

"Where's Heath?"

"We'll get to that," Hyatt assured him pleasantly.

"You're a fool to stay here. If you broke out of jail, the sheriff'll be after you in a heartbeat. If he doesn't come, the doctor and his wife—"

"I wouldn't count on any of them, Barkley, if I were you. The doc and his wife got called out to a fire a good ways out of town. They'll be back when they find out there wasn't one, but not for some while yet. Sheriff's out looking for me, trailing my brother and a horse packing potatoes and flour. I'm gonna see to a little business here, quick as I can without spoiling things, and then head out south, long gone by the time he catches up with Cliff. But I couldn't leave you without something to remember me by."

"What did you do to Heath?" Jarrod demanded, pulling at the iron on his wrists, hoping the arm of the chair would break, meeting only solid resistance.

"It's hard, ain't it. The not knowing. But we'll get to that. First we have to see to this poor boy here." Hyatt put Heath's gun over on the windowsill, far out of Jarrod's reach. Then he came back to the bedside and looked down at Nick.

"Get away from him," Jarrod spat.

"Now don't you worry. I just want to help. Ain't that right, boy?"

He gave Nick's injured shoulder an enthusiastic pat, and Nick groaned, stirring.

Jarrod strained toward him. "Nick."

Nick started breathing faster, his face contorted in pain. He tried to swallow and couldn't, and he mumbled something unintelligible. "Wa'er," he moaned finally.

With a sly look at Jarrod, Hyatt picked up the glass on the table near the bed and filled it to the brim from the pitcher. Then, with the tenderness of a mother caring for her child, he lifted Nick's head and helped him to drink.

"Can't have enough water when you're in a fever, can you, boy." He poured more water into Nick's mouth, making him cough. Then he looked at Jarrod and filled the glass again. "It's an awful thing to drown, don't you think so?"

The leaden dread laying in Jarrod's stomach since he'd awoken rose up and gripped his throat.

"I've thought a lot about that since yesterday morning," Hyatt said as if they were conversing over lunch at the local hotel.

He tilted the glass again, and Nick turned his head to the side, coughing more, letting the water spill onto the pillows, and his hand gripped the coverlet.

Hyatt looked down on him with mocking concern. "Hurts, don't it, boy."

The cuffs gouged into Jarrod's wrists as he yanked against them. "If you're gonna kill me, kill me. He hasn't done anything to you but save your life."

"Nice fellah," Hyatt said, smirking as he gave Nick's cheek a rough pat, and then he turned his face up again. "That's why I want to take real good care of him."

He poured a little more water into Nick's mouth, and again Nick coughed and struggled.

"It's not just the pain," Hyatt said. "It's the terror of it." He tilted the glass again, pouring faster now, calmly watching Nick wheeze and gasp and tug at the coverlet he still clutched. "It's the helplessness. Believe me, I know."

"Let him alone!" Jarrod jerked against the cuffs, frantic, desperate, bruising and bloodying his wrists, and still the arm of the chair wouldn't give. "Let him alone!"

"And what, kill you instead? Give you what you want?" Hyatt laughed as the water spilled from either side of Nick's mouth, as he writhed and fought for air. "You want to die, Barkley. I heard everything you said over there in the jail. You want to die as much as you want him to live." The mocking face turned hard. "I won't do you the favor."

Nick's wheezes were strangling gurgles now, his already-faint struggles weakening. Hyatt grabbed his chin, holding his head so he couldn't turn it, so the water couldn't run out anymore.

With a roar, Jarrod grabbed the arm of the chair with both hands and flung himself, chair and all, at Hyatt. The chair broke on impact, and the two of them fell across the bed, making Nick cry out in pain.

"Get off!" Jarrod pulled free of the broken fragments of the chair, grabbed Hyatt by the collar, and flung him to the floor.

Hyatt kicked his shackled legs out from under him, and Jarrod fell heavily against him. Before Hyatt could scramble away, Jarrod threw his hands over his head, pulling the chain that bound his wrists together tight under the thrashing man's chin.

"No, no!" Hyatt shrieked, clawing at his throat with desperate hands, wheezing and gasping as Nick had as the chain tightened and tightened. "Barkley—"

Jarrod choked off the word. "No more," he snarled. "No more, no more, no more. For Beth. For Heath. For Nick. No more."

Hyatt twitched and spittle ran down his chin. "Bark—"

"Jarrod!"

Heath was suddenly there, leaning woozily against the doorframe, a smear of dried blood marking him from his temple to his jaw and down the side of his neck.

"Jarrod." He shook his head, blue eyes pleading.

Hyatt gasped in Jarrod's hold, struggling again. Jarrod didn't let him go.

"Jarrod," Heath repeated, still clinging to the doorframe.

"Jarrod," another voice rasped, and Jarrod froze.

"Nick?"

"Jarrod," Nick wheezed. "Don't. Pappy, please. Can't— can't lose you."

"_Was the hate so much more important than everything you love?"_

No more.

For Beth. For Heath. For Nick.

For himself.

No more.

Jarrod lifted his chained hands over Hyatt's head and let him slump to the floor. Drawing a shuddering breath, he limped over to the windowsill and picked up Heath's gun, training it on the trembling man.

With fumbling fingers, Heath dug a small key out of his pocket and released Jarrod's torn wrists. Then he put the bloodied handcuffs on Hyatt and shoved the barely conscious man into a corner.

Finally he went back to his oldest brother, and their eyes locked. Jarrod stood stock still, his breath coming hard, the gun he held still pointed at Hyatt. After everything that had happened, there was more than a little fear in Heath's expression as he reached out his hand.

"I b'lieve that's mine."

He managed a faint, crooked smile, one of pleading and pity and understanding, and after a long moment, Jarrod handed the gun over, butt first. Heath shoved it into his holster, and then they both turned to the bed. Nick's eyes were closed and his breath was still coming fast, but he was breathing.

Jarrod fell to his knees beside him. "Nick."

He grabbed Nick's hand, holding it hard, and Nick squeezed back.

"You did— You did right, Pappy."

The words ripped through Jarrod's heart, tearing it open, letting it beat again, and the burning tears finally poured out of him, tears of grief and shame and relief all bound together.

"Nick, I'm so sorry. So ashamed. Everything I did. To him. To Heath. To you. I shot—"

"You didn't," Nick breathed. "Told you. Accident."

Jarrod felt him start to shake and realized he was trying to laugh.

"Don't you ever— don't you ever listen— big brother?"

Heath knelt, too, and put one arm around Jarrod's shoulders. "You didn't mean to shoot him, Jarrod. Listen to him. "

"Nick, you have to make it," Jarrod sobbed, leaning his forehead against Nick's shoulder. "You both— Beth's gone." The sound of her name was another slash to his heart, letting more of the poison out. "She's gone. I can't lose my brothers now. I can't—"

Nick somehow managed to slip his hand to the back of Jarrod's neck, Heath pressed closer to Jarrod's side, and Jarrod clung to them both, releasing everything that had been so tightly bound inside him since the moment Beth died.

"Nick?" Heath said after a moment.

Jarrod lifted his head at the alarm in his voice, and Nick's limp hand slid back down to the bed. Heath was pulling back the blanket, and Jarrod realized it was soaked with blood, the same blood that soaked the bandage around Nick's midsection. He and Hyatt had fallen across him in the struggle, and now—

"My God, I've killed him."


	9. Part Nine

**Part Nine**

"I've killed him," Jarrod breathed again, his eyes fixed on Nick lying limp and still on the blood-soaked mattress.

Heath leapt to his feet and started rummaging through drawers. Finally he found a stack of clean towels and brought them to the bed.

"Listen to me, Jarrod, he's not dead. If he's still bleeding, he's not dead."

Jarrod caught a swift, steadying breath and nodded, taking the towel Heath thrust into his hands.

"That bandage isn't doing him any good. I'm gonna take it off, and when I do, you press down with that towel until I can get some fresh bandages and something to clean him up with." Heath looked at him for a moment, his face nearly as pale as Nick's and the dried blood still streaked down his neck. "Understand?"

Again Jarrod nodded. Nick was here because of him, and he wasn't going to let him die. Not now.

"All right." Heath took a deep breath, steeling himself. "Now." He tugged at the sodden bandage, but it didn't move. "I don't want to risk pulling that off. I'll have to cut it away."

He took Jarrod's hands and pressed them and the towel to the wound just under Nick's rib cage. Then he went into the doctor's office. Jarrod could hear the bang and rattle of cabinet doors and drawers, and a moment later, Heath came back with scissors and bandages and a large bottle of carbolic. He cut the bandage and then, after soaking it with water, he managed to get the blood-stiffened dressing off. The wound was red and angry, and three of the black stitches had burst. Jarrod used a fresh towel to try to stop the steady bleeding, lifting it for only a moment while Heath swabbed Nick's abdomen with antiseptic.

"I don't think a bandage is going to help much at this point. Not till that bleeding slows some."

"We need the doctor," Jarrod said. "Hyatt said he'd gone somewhere out of town."

"There was a fire," Heath said, remembering.

"There was no fire. It was a trick. Where'd he go?"

"Can't remember the place the kid said."

Jarrod frowned. "The kid?"

"Mexican kid from the store."

"Get him," Jarrod said, pressing harder on the towel he held and watching as it swiftly turned red. "Find out where. Go for the doc. Nick's—" Jarrod swallowed hard. "He needs the doctor."

From somewhere behind him, he heard a low laugh, and he forced down the sudden fury that blazed through him. He didn't even turn. Nick was what was important, not that—

"Shut up, Hyatt," Heath spat.

He went over to the corner where Hyatt still huddled and pulled him to his feet by the shackles on his wrists.

"Don't," Hyatt begged, holding up his hands in front of his face. "Don't."

"You're not worth the lead it'd take to blow your brains out." Heath turned to Jarrod. "I'm taking him over to the jail. Then I'll find that boy and go for the doc. You see to Nick."

"I will." Jarrod tossed the second sodden towel to the floor and pressed a third to Nick's middle. "Hurry."

"Quick as I can."

Heath shoved Hyatt out of the room in front of him.

Watching Nick's face for any sign of consciousness, Jarrod pressed harder on the towel, pressed until his hands ached.

"I'm sorry," he said again and again. "I'm sorry, Nick. I'm so sorry."

He needed to pray, he knew he ought to, there was nowhere else to turn, but somewhere deep inside he knew he had no right. If hatred was the same as murder, if the desire was the same as the act, he had murdered. No less than Cass Hyatt had done, he had murdered. Why should God hear him now? But somewhere beyond what he had done, somewhere beyond judgement, there was mercy. There had to be.

Still keeping pressure on the wound, Jarrod laid his head against Nick's shoulder, burned himself by the fever that burned through him.

"Please, God, don't let go of him." He pressed closer, and hot tears slipped from his closed eyes. "Don't let go of me."

OOOOO

Heath found the keys in the sheriff's desk drawer and swiftly locked Hyatt in the cell he had broken out of. The bunk in the other one was occupied by a still, blanket-covered form.

"He'll hang," Heath murmured, half to himself and half to the young deputy lying there dead. "He'll hang."

"Wait!" Hyatt cried when Heath strode past him and back toward the sheriff's office. "You can't just leave me. Take these handcuffs off. I have to have food and water. I need to have the doc look at me. Your brother nearly killed me. You can't just—"

Heath slammed the door behind him, locked it, and put the key back into the sheriff's desk drawer. Then he went back out into the street. The dry goods store was dark, but it was the only place he knew to start looking for the Mexican kid who'd come to the doctor's office earlier that night.

He hurried over to the store and pounded on the door. After a moment, there was a faint light.

"Who is there?"

Heath recognized the Spanish accent of the boy he was looking for.

"Heath Barkley. You were at the doctor's office earlier. I have to talk to you."

The door opened just enough for the boy to peer out. "I remember you. What is it you want?"

"Where'd the doc go? You said there was a fire. Where?"

The boy blinked at him sleepily. "At the Macon ranch. It was very bad, the man said."

_The man _was Hyatt, no doubt.

"There wasn't a fire," Heath told him. "That was just to get the doctor and his wife out of the way. My brother's dying. I need to get them back here."

"Come in." The boy stepped back to let him in. "I sleep in the back. I will get dressed."

"No time for that. Just tell me where the doc went."

"It is a long ride, señor. You are not fit to go."

Heath caught sight of himself in the mirror on the counter. He still had blood down the side of his face, blood on his hands, and his head was pounding something fierce. Still—

"I don't have time to waste."

"And if you cannot find him because you do not know your way? If you fall from your horse because you can no longer hold up your head? What then?"

Heath hesitated.

"You should go back to your brother. I will bring the doctor as quick as I can. I am a fast rider, you will see."

Heath licked his dry lips. "All right then. As fast as you can."

OOOOO

"How is he?" Heath asked when he came back into the doctor's back room.

Jarrod could only shake his head. "The bleeding's slowed a little, but I can't get it to stop. He needs the doctor. I thought you were going for him."

"The boy knows where he went. I figured it'd be quicker if I sent him."

Heath pushed aside the remains of the broken chair that had been at the bedside and brought in another from the doctor's office. "You'd better use this."

Jarrod's whole body ached as Heath pulled him to his feet and then helped him into the chair, his battered wrists ached, his ankles ached from the chafing shackles that bound them still, but he kept pressure on the wound under Nick's rib cage. "You'd better find some more towels."

Heath looked down at the pile of blood-soaked towels there on the floor and pressed his lips together. Then he nodded and went into the other room. He came back with what looked to be fancy table linens and bedclothes.

"I don't guess the doctor's wife'll be any too happy about us borrowing these, but I couldn't find anything else."

Jarrod merely nodded, replacing the towel that could absorb no more liquid with a lace-trimmed satin pillowcase. "How far? To that ranch, I mean."

"Doc said it was fifteen miles. It might be a while before the boy can get out there and get him back."

"We don't have a while!"

"I know that," Heath said quietly."If— if something happens—"

"Don't."

"If something happens to him—"

"Don't say it. Please, God, don't say it."

"Jarrod, if something happens to Nick—"

They both froze, listening. Coming from outside, there was the sound of a horse and buggy.


	10. Part Ten

**Part Ten**

"The doctor," Jarrod murmured, struggling to get up, but Heath stopped him.

"I'll go see."

He went toward the sound of a buggy pulling up outside the doctor's office, but before he could reach the door, it opened and the doctor and his wife came inside. Jarrod could hear them in the other room.

"What happened to you, young man?" the doctor asked. "There was no fire at Macon's, so we hurried on back here. We ran into Mateo on the road and he said—"

"That'll wait," Heath told him. "You have to hurry. Nick's bleeding bad, and we can't get it to stop."

"What's been going on in here?" the doctor's wife said, and she caught her breath when she and her husband stepped into the back room. "Oh, my."

Jarrod hadn't particularly paid attention to the room up till now, but between his fight with Hyatt and Heath's frantic search for something to stop Nick's bleeding, it was pretty torn up, drawers and cabinets open, splintered pieces of the broken chair strewn everywhere, and bloody cloths crumpled on the floor.

"Sorry about all this, ma'am," Heath said. "We, uh, had a little bit of trouble."

"Help me, Caroline," the doctor said, coming immediately to Nick's side. "We'll worry about everything else later."

Jarrod moved out of the way, but he had to see. Once the doctor pulled the makeshift bandage out of the way, he had to see how bad Nick was. He knew what Heath had been trying to say just a moment ago. He was sure he knew.

"_Jarrod, if something happens to Nick—"_

If something happens to Nick, what? It's not your fault? It was an accident? You didn't mean to? If something happened to Nick, would any of that make a difference? Would any of that make him less dead? Would it make Jarrod any less guilty?

The doctor peeled back the lace and satin pillowcase Jarrod had been using to staunch Nick's bleeding and handed the ruined cloth to his wife. She dropped it on the floor with the bloody towels.

"I'm going to have to operate again," Dr. Saxton said once he had made his examination and his wife had taken over the task of keeping pressure on the fresh pad of bandages over Nick's wound. "There's something torn inside. I won't know exactly what until I remove the stitches, what's left of them, and find out. Tell me what happened? Those stitches didn't tear because he was lying still."

Jarrod looked over at Heath.

"Cass Hyatt killed the deputy over at the jail and escaped," Heath said tightly. "He got you and the sheriff out of the way so he could come after Jarrod."

The doctor's white eyebrows went up.

"He knocked me out first." Heath turned his head when Dr. Saxton leaned closer for a better look at his bruised temple. "Then he came in here, and he and Jarrod fought. I— I'm not exactly sure about everything that happened, but Jarrod got Hyatt down. By then I was on my feet again, so I took Hyatt over to the jail and locked him up."

"I see," the doctor said doubtfully. "But how—"

"It was my fault," Jarrod said, looking down at Nick. "Hyatt meant to—" His throat tightened as he thought of it now, of Hyatt standing over the bed, laughing as his dying brother gasped and choked and fought for breath. "He had me cuffed to that chair—"

The doctor's eyes darted to Jarrod's torn wrists.

"Hyatt was trying to kill him, knowing I couldn't stop him. I broke the chair over his back, and we both fell across the bed." Onto Nick.

"That didn't help your brother's condition," the doctor said grimly, "though I suppose it did save his life. For a time."

Heath looked at Jarrod, concerned, and Jarrod looked away.

"You two had better get yourselves cleaned up," Dr. Saxton added. "When I'm done here, I'll see about patching up the both of you."

"There's bread and cheese in the kitchen on the other side of the office along with soap and water and more towels," Mrs. Saxton said. "You boys help yourselves."

"Go on," the doctor said sharply. "I'm trying to get through this without risking a transfusion, but if he needs blood, I want both of you strong enough to give it. Eat."

"All right," Heath said.

For a long moment, Jarrod didn't move. Then he pushed back Nick's tumbled black hair and brushed his lips against his forehead. Heath rubbed Nick's shoulder and then clasped it for a moment. After that, they both went out into the office. The doctor shut the door behind them.

They found their way to the kitchen, and Heath made Jarrod sit down at the table. Then he scared up some matches and lit the lamp. In the soft light, the small room seemed safe and cozy. Homelike.

Heath got the bread and cheese the doctor's wife had mentioned, cut some of each, and put it in the faded china dish that he'd taken from the plate rail on the wall. He put the dish on the table in front of Jarrod. Then he looked into the coffee pot and, finding it half full, put it on the stove to heat.

"Not fresh," he said as he got them a couple of cups, "but I'd say it's this morning's. It'll be hot soon."

Jarrod nodded.

At the sink, Heath pumped some water into a bowl and grabbed up soap and a couple of towels from the cupboard. He put those on the table in front of Jarrod, too, and then sat next to him.

"Let me see your wrists."

"They're all right."

Heath soaked a towel in the water and wrung it out. "Let me see."

He took careful hold of one of Jarrod's hands and laid it palm up on the table. Then he pushed back his torn sleeve. Jarrod hissed at the first touch of the cold water and the towel, but by the time Heath was done, the water in the bowl was red and Jarrod's ravaged wrists were at least clean.

"The doctor'll have to bandage you up," Heath said. "Sorry I can't do anything about those leg irons until the sheriff gets back."

Heath emptied the bowl and refilled it from the pump. Then he wet a fresh towel and wiped down his hair and his face and neck, making the water red again. That done, he put some cheese on a piece of bread and put it in Jarrod's hand.

"Eat that."

Jarrod's stomach clenched at the thought, but he did as he was told. Heath ate too, and then he brought the coffee pot to the table and poured them each a cup. The coffee was stale and bitter, but they both drank it down.

"What happened?" Heath asked finally. "Between you and Hyatt?"

Jarrod shook his head. "I already told you. Hyatt tried to kill Nick. I stopped him."

"There's more than that. I saw it in your eyes when the doctor asked you about it. I can see it there right now."

Jarrod looked into the blackness of his coffee. "That's all there was."

"I want to know," Heath pressed.

"Heath—"

"I want to know." Sheriff Fain sat down at the table with them as if he had been there all along. "I want to know what's been going on here since I left."

"Sheriff," Heath said. "We thought you'd be gone a day or two at least."

The lawman looked sour and dirty and dead tired.

"We caught up to Hyatt's brother not far out of town, leading a riderless horse like you said. He was packing just enough to make it look like somebody was with him."

"You bring him back?" Heath asked.

The sheriff nodded. "Across his saddle."

Jarrod's eyes widened. "What?"

"Bad business," Fain said. "He made a wrong move. One of my men, greenhorn on his first posse, got jumpy and shot him dead. Hyatt's brother didn't even have a gun."

"Accident," Jarrod said, half under his breath.

"That's the way I see it. Don't know much about the brother. Had to have been him who helped Hyatt escape. I suppose he'd been in and out of trouble all along, like Hyatt."

"No." Jarrod put his half-eaten bread and cheese back in the plate. "No. He wasn't the type. Whatever, Hyatt talked him into, he wasn't the type. He just wanted to earn an honest living and be let alone, and now he's dead. Another _accident_."

"That's too bad," Heath said, and there was genuine sorrow in his voice.

Fain looked him up and down. "You the one who put Hyatt back in jail, deputy?"

"Yeah. We had more than we could handle without having to nursemaid him." Heath lifted one eyebrow. "He still locked up?"

"Yeah, though you could've put my keys in a less obvious place. Like the middle of the street or something."

"I figured you'd want 'em when you got back."

The sheriff looked mildly disgusted. "You boys got more coffee?"

"No," Heath said. "Only this mud we're drinking. I think I'll empty out that pot and try starting fresh."

He got up from the table, and Jarrod looked over at the sheriff.

"What happens now? To Hyatt, I mean."

The sheriff studied him for a moment. "He killed my deputy, Mr. Barkley. He'll hang for that."

"Has he confessed?"

"Nah. Don't expect he will. But he'll hang for it." Fain's face darkened. "That boy wasn't twenty yet."

Jarrod closed his eyes. He was tired of it all, of killing and death and pain. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah, me, too." The sheriff hesitated. "Uh, I came over to check on you . . . and your brother. How is he?"

Jarrod leaned his elbows on the table and rubbed his eyes, trying to rub away the image of Nick lying in that narrow, blood-soaked bed. "Bad, I'm afraid. Doc's doing surgery again. How much did Hyatt tell you?"

"Hasn't said a thing." The sheriff looked Jarrod over again. "Can't say which of you got the worst of it, but he's beat up pretty bad. By the look of his throat, maybe he _can't_ say anything. I can't complain. So are you gonna tell me what happened or not?"

Heath was watching them from over by the stove.

"Hyatt got the drop on Heath, knocked him out and took his gun. The doctor had put me under with some laudanum, and when I woke up, Hyatt had me handcuffed to a chair. He said—" Jarrod drew a deep breath. "He said he'd kill everybody I cared about rather than kill me. He wanted me to watch while he drowned Nick."

"Drowned?" Heath gasped, coming over to the table.

"He kept pouring water into Nick's mouth, more and more, until he couldn't breathe, holding him there until—" Jarrod stopped himself, unable to go on.

Heath gripped his shoulder, blue eyes diamond hard. "Maybe I should have let you finish breaking his neck."

"The law will see to him," the sheriff said. "I'm only sorry they couldn't have done that in the first place, Mr. Barkley, for your wife, and saved all the rest of this from happening."

Jarrod didn't answer him. All the rest? The widening ripples of consequence from one man's act and another's equally wrong reaction to it. He had held Hyatt's head under the water in that horse trough just as coldly and deliberately as Hyatt had poured that water down Nick's throat. Nick was dying _by accident_. _By accident_, Hyatt's brother was dead and Beth was dead. None of them had been a part of the corrosive vengeance between the two principals, between Cass Hyatt and Jarrod Barkley. It didn't seem to matter.

He started to get up, needing to clear his head, and realized he couldn't. "Do you think you could take these shackles off of me now, sheriff? I have no plans to go anywhere. Now that Hyatt has a charge against him that, presumably, will stick, I have no intention of interfering with your plans for him."

"What do you have planned?" Fain asked coolly.

"I'm gong to eat," Jarrod said, picking up the bread and cheese again, "so I'll be able to give my brother blood if he needs it. And, once your telegraph office opens, I'm going to send a wire to my mother."


	11. Part Eleven

**Part Eleven**

The rain hit late in the night, the wind whipping sheets of it against Dr. Saxton's house, thunder booming, forks of lightning illuminating everything like a photographer's negative and then leaving the outside pitch black once more. Jarrod sat in the doctor's office now, his chair pulled close to the window as he watched the night. Once the sheriff had taken the shackles off his legs, he had paced for a while, glad to be able to take a long step again, glad to have the weight of the iron lifted off him, but after a while he had sunk into this chair. Why was the doctor taking so long?

"I'll make some more coffee," Heath said after he'd shaken himself awake about the fifth time.

"Why don't you just sleep?" Jarrod nodded toward the settee he was already seated on. "I'll wake you when the doctor is all done."

Heath narrowed his eyes. "When's the last time you slept?"

Jarrod stared into the night and didn't answer him. He didn't know.

"Jarrod?"

He remembered waking that last morning with Beth lying in his arms. Watching him sleep, he'd supposed. She hadn't said anything, but the corners of her sleepy eyes had crinkled, and she had reached up to stroke his cheek, his hair, and he had pulled her close—

"Jarrod."

He wrapped his arms around himself and leaned his forehead against the rain-fogged glass.

"What are you gonna tell Mother?" Heath asked.

"I don't know." Jarrod sighed and turned to face him. "If Nick—"

Heath pressed his lips together, and for a moment they were both silent.

"She'd want to see him either way," Jarrod continued lamely. "She has that right."

"And Audra?"

"I don't know. I don't know what Mother's told her. I don't even know what day it is anymore, whether she'd be back from Philadelphia by now."

"Mother wired her about Beth," Heath said quietly. "I don't guess I ever heard what arrangements they made for Audra to get back home."

"If she's home, she'll come, too."

"Yeah."

The clock on the mantelpiece whirred and struck the quarter hour. There was a second of silence, and then the whole house was rattled with the boom and crash of thunder. Jarrod stood up and paced away from the window. A moment later, the door to the back room opened. Jarrod stopped where he was and Heath got to his feet beside him.

"Your brother is holding on," Dr. Saxton said as he removed his spectacles and rubbed his tired eyes. "But he's going to need a transfusion. Have either of you given him blood before?"

"He's given me some," Heath said. "I guess that means mine will work for him."

"Not necessarily," the doctor said.

"I've given Nick blood in the past." Jarrod was already rolling up his sleeve. "There weren't any problems."

"Good. Did you eat?"

"Some."

The doctor looked at Heath for confirmation.

"Some," Heath agreed. "Not enough."

"Enough for now," Jarrod said, and he went into the back room.

He found the doctor's wife rinsing off surgical instruments and putting them into a metal pan. She gave him what he was sure was meant to be an encouraging smile, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. If Nick had been pale before, he was white now, almost as white as the new bandages that bound his shoulder and swaddled his middle. His breathing was slow and even.

Mrs. Saxton pulled the blanket up to his shoulders. "He'll need to stay warm now."

"The anesthetic will wear off before long," Dr. Saxton told Jarrod as she carried the instruments out of the room. "We ought to get the transfusion done before it does."

Jarrod took the chair he indicated, waiting for the stab of the doctor's needle, not flinching when it came. The rubber tube turned dark with his blood, blood that would bring life to his brother.

"_All the life I had went into that grave this morning."_

He'd told Mother that after Beth's funeral.

"_That's not true." _He could still see her there in the gun room, small and fierce as he reached for a rifle to take with him to hunt down Cass Hyatt, begging him to think before he did something that could not be undone. _"You think it is, you believe it, but it is not true."_

He prayed now that she was right, that this one thing at least could be undone. He would give any of that life, all of it, to keep Nick from dying. _Please, God, don't let go of him._

Heath stood on the other side of the bed, arms crossed over his chest, his back against the wall, watching Nick, too. Waiting. Waiting and listening to the storm.

It wasn't long before the doctor was removing the needle from Nick's arm and from Jarrod's, carefully bandaging each. Then he checked Nick's pulse and lifted one eyelid.

Nick stirred weakly and tried to pull away.

"He'll be coming out of it soon," the doctor said.

"And?" Jarrod asked.

"And now we wait."

"But what do you think?" Heath moved away from the wall, closer to the bed. "Will he make it?"

Dr. Saxton went to him and turned his head towards the lamp. "It's too early to say. Come and sit down."

The doctor gave him a spoonful of laudanum and then stitched up the gash on the side of his head.

"Now, I want you to go back into my office and lie down on the settee."

"But—"

Dr. Saxton pulled Heath to his feet and pushed him toward the door. Heath swayed a little but still tried to turn back.

"Go on," Jarrod told him. "Before you fall down. I'll stay with Nick."

Heath frowned but did as he was told.

The doctor turned to Jarrod. "As for you—"

"I want the truth. What are his chances?"

"Chances." Dr. Saxton moved the lamp closer to Jarrod and started examining the back of his head where the sheriff had hit him. "There's not much I can do for this now. Or that crease there."

He prodded the place above Jarrod's left ear where Hyatt had creased him.

Jarrod flinched and pulled away. "What do you mean _chances_?"

"I mean I can't tell you exactly. No two patients are alike. I can make guesses based on my experience, but I can't promise anything. If he'll rest and if we can get that fever down, that would make a big difference." The doctor started examining Jarrod's wrists. "And if he's like his brothers, he's got a strong will. That counts for more than most folks realize."

Jarrod flinched again as the doctor spread some kind of stinging salve on his wrists and then bandaged them up.

"You're going to have to eat something, Mr. Barkley," Dr. Saxton said. "And don't tell me you already have. You need to build your blood back up in case your brother needs more of it. Caroline?"

After a few seconds, Mrs. Saxton came to the door.

"Is there something you can fix Mr. Barkley? Something to help him get his strength back."

"There's still some beef stew from dinner," she said.

"That should do nicely. Heat some of that, if you would, my dear."

"Right away."

"After you eat," the doctor told Jarrod, "I want you to get some sleep, too."

"Later," Jarrod said, keeping his eyes on Nick. "And no more laudanum."

Dr. Saxton shook his head. "Suit yourself. As for me, it's been a long night. Once Mrs. Saxton gets your stew, we're going to bed. I trust you'll call me if your brother needs me."

Jarrod nodded.

"You eat every bite of that stew, understand?"

"I'll eat it."

"All right then. I'll be just a call away."

The doctor felt for the pulse in Nick's throat and then left. A few minutes later, his wife brought Jarrod the promised stew. Then she, too, was gone.

Jarrod ate, listening to Nick's slow breathing and the wildness of the storm outside. When his plate was empty, he carried it and the pitcher from Nick's bedside to the dark kitchen. He left the plate on the table and filled the pitcher from the pump at the sink. He stopped on his way back to check on Heath and found him sprawled on the settee sound asleep. Someone, the doctor's wife most likely, had spread a crocheted afghan over him.

"Sleep well, little brother." Jarrod laid one hand on his fair hair, wondering what he would have done, what Nick would have done, without Heath here quietly helping them both. "I owe you more than I can ever repay."

Jarrod carried the pitcher into the back room, shut the door behind him, and sat down again beside the bed. The back of his hand against Nick's cheek told him the fever was up again, and he dipped a cloth in the fresh water. Nick started at the touch of it against his face.

"Mmm."

"Nick?" Jarrod leaned closer to him. "Can you hear me, Nick?"

Thunder boomed, and Nick turned his head to one side, his eyes squeezed tight shut, his breath suddenly fast.

"Nick." Jarrod pressed one hand to his cheek. "You're all right, Nick. It's just the rain."

Nick had never liked thunderstorms when he was a little boy, even though not much else had ever scared him. Storms didn't bother him now, but every once in a while a wild one would make him a little jumpy. This one was fierce.

Jarrod quickly poured out some fresh water and lifted Nick's head, but at the first touch of the glass to his lips, Nick began to struggle against him, pushing with his free hand.

"No. No, don't. Don't."

Jarrod shoved the glass back onto the table, cursing himself for his stupidity. After what Hyatt had done—

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry." He used both hands to try to keep Nick still. "You're all right, Nick. You're all right. Nobody's going to hurt you. Nick."

"No more." Nick twisted and shifted in the bed, no doubt pulling at the new stitches. "No more water. No more. Jarrod, don't— don't drown—"

Jarrod held onto him, forcing his voice to stay low and calm. "Everything's all right, Nick. Listen to me. Listen. Nobody's going to drown." He felt sick just hearing the word. Drown.

_It's not just the pain. It's the terror of it. It's the helplessness._

"Don't," Nick sobbed, still fighting him. "Jarrod, don't. Jarrod."

Jarrod sat down on the bed and pulled Nick up against him, wrapping him in his arms, holding him so he couldn't hurt himself. Nick huddled there, his breath coming now in quick little gasps. Again the thunder crashed. Lightning lit the room. Nick looked up at Jarrod, his eyes wide and wild, the hair that fell into his face stark and black against his pale skin. He clutched Jarrod's shirtfront with his free hand.

"Shh," Jarrod soothed, holding him tighter, and his struggles began to weaken. "You're safe now, Nick. You're safe. Pappy's got you now. You're safe."

"Pappy?" Once more there was the crack and flash of close thunder and lightning. Nick ducked his head against Jarrod's chest and wrapped his arm around his waist, clinging to him. "Pappy."

For a long while, Jarrod just held on, speaking low comfort until gradually Nick's breathing slowed and his body relaxed. The arm around Jarrod's waist dropped limp beside him, and Jarrod laid Nick back on the bed. For a moment, he was alarmed to see sudden beads of sweat on Nick's forehead and unshaved upper lip, and then he realized he was suddenly cooler. The pain lines in his expression had softened.

He patted Nick's face with cool water and then situated himself where he could lean back against the head of the bed and lay Nick's head in his lap. Then he closed his eyes, and the rain was only a patter against the roof.

**Author's Note: NOL1, this one's for you.**


	12. Part Twelve

**Part Twelve**

Heath woke with light spilling over him, the clean, soft light of a dawn after a storm. He pushed back the crocheted afghan he was under and tried to sit up and then had to try again. His head still ached, but the pain seemed to have confined itself to only the area where his stitches were. All the rest of him was just stiff and sore. It was an improvement.

Judging from the light and from the clock on the mantel, he figured he'd had about four hours' sleep. It was more than he'd had at one time since Jarrod had left the ranch, so that was an improvement, too. The soft voices of the doctor and his wife came from the kitchen, but there was only silence from the back room. He hauled himself to his feet and went to check on his brothers.

Jarrod was sitting in the chair with one arm stretched out on the bed and his head resting on it. Someone had put a blanket around him. He was sound asleep.

Heath moved noiselessly past him and blew out the lamp. Then he went to the other side of the bed and looked down at Nick. There was an extra blanket over him now, but he was lying there shivering, his face twisted with pain.

Heath put one hand on his forehead. It was blazing hot.

Nick's eyes opened a crack at the touch. "Heath?"

"I'm right here, Nick," Heath said, keeping his voice low, relieved to see him awake and clear headed at last. "Right here."

For a few seconds, Nick breathed harshly, as if that one word had been too much for him. Then he tried to swallow and couldn't do it.

Heath patted his shoulder. "I'll get you some water."

Nick shook his head.

"It'll cool you off." Heath went to the other side of the bed, got the half-full glass, and brought it back to Nick. "Just a sip or two."

Nick shook his head again, his breath coming faster, and Heath remembered what Jarrod had said, what Hyatt had done to their brother.

"It's all right." Heath put Nick's hand around the glass as best he could. "You do it yourself, Nick. I'm just going to hold it steady for you. That's all."

Nick looked at him warily and then finally nodded and drew the glass to his lips. At first he took only the tiniest of sips, and then, unable to hold back any longer, began gulping the water down, spilling it down his neck and onto the pillow.

"Easy, easy." Heath pulled the glass away from him. "You don't have to drink it all this minute."

Nick dropped his head back to the pillow, and then he immediately tried to sit up again. "Where's Jarrod? Where's—"

"Shh." Heath made his voice even softer than before. "He's right there in the chair beside you. Sleeping."

Steeling himself against the pain, Nick managed to turn to his side enough to see their oldest brother.

"Thought he was gone." Nick reached over and grabbed Jarrod's sleeve just above his bandaged wrist. "Thought Hyatt drowned him. Guess I wasn't thinking too clear." He patted Jarrod's arm clumsily. "Glad he's 'sleep. Needs to sleep."

"You need to sleep," Heath murmured, blotting the water from Nick's face and neck.

"How long?" Nick was breathing hard again. "How long? Here."

"You and I rode in day before yesterday. I'm not sure how long Jarrod's been here. Not much longer, I expect."

Nick narrowed his eyes. "Hyatt dead?"

"In jail," Heath said. "He killed a deputy. He'll hang."

Nick tightened his grasp on their oldest brother's sleeve. "Jarrod all right?"

"It's gonna take him a while," Heath admitted, "but he's holding on.

"Good." Nick let out a slow breath, and his eyes drifted closed. "Gotta get him home. Promised Mother."

"I know, Nick. We'll get him home."

"Yeah."

Heath patted the side of Nick's face, shaking him a little, making him open his eyes. "I mean it, Nick. We're both getting him home."

"Yeah," Nick said again, and again his eyes closed. "Okay. Just tired."

He wasn't just tired. He was in serious pain, sweating and shaking and clenching his jaw hard. Shouldn't he be feeling at least a little better now that the doctor had fixed him up? At least the doctor should be able to ease some of the pain.

Before Heath could go fetch him, Dr. Saxton came into the room.

"Good morning," he said, his voice low.

"Could you give him something?" Heath asked as the doctor started to examine Nick. "He's hurting pretty bad."

"I know," the doctor said with some sympathy. "I gave him something when I was in here about an hour ago, but it seems it wasn't strong enough. I don't like to drug my patients any more than I have to. It makes it very difficult to assess their conditions. Mr. Barkley?" he said to Nick, his voice still low but very distinct. "I need you to listen to me for a moment."

Nick frowned. "Mmm."

"Open your eyes."

Nick did as he was told.

"You may not remember me, but I'm Dr. Saxton. You're at my house. My wife and I are taking care of you."

Nick licked his lips and his eyes slipped closed. "'nks."

"Mr. Barkley, look at me."

Nick took two hard breaths, like he was mad, and opened his eyes again.

"I need you to tell me how bad you're hurting."

"'m all right."

"The truth, Mr. Barkley."

Nick glanced at Heath.

"He can't help you unless you tell him," Heath said.

Nick looked over at the wall. "Bad."

Heath clasped his shoulder, steadying him.

"I see." The doctor pushed the blankets down to Nick's waist. "Now, I checked your shoulder before I rebandaged it a few hours ago, I don't think it's a problem." He slipped his fingers under the wrapping binding Nick's right shoulder and arm. "You're feverish, but I don't feel any seepage." He pressed down, making Nick flinch but nothing more.

"What about—" Heath glanced down at the bandage around Nick's middle and then looked at the doctor.

The doctor's face was even more grim that before. "You'd better hold onto him."

Heath kept his hand on Nick's shoulder and then took Nick's free hand with his other. The doctor gently pressed the taut, pale skin just next to the bandage, and Nick went rigid, gripping so hard Heath was afraid some of the small bones in his hand would crack.

"All right, Mr. Barkley," the doctor soothed. "All right. That's all." He pulled the blankets back up to Nick's shoulders and then got a bottle out of his bag. "You'll sleep now."

He gave Nick a heavy dose of laudanum, watching his face until he finally succumbed to its effects. Then he motioned for Heath to follow him out into his office.

"I thought we'd wake Jarrod with that," Heath said, wiping the sudden sweat from his face.

The doctor shook his head. "From all I can tell, he's been running on nothing but nerves since before he came to Rimfire. At this point, it'd take cannon fire to make him stir. My guess is he'll be out another five or six hours at the least."

"Good. What about Nick?"

Dr. Saxton pressed his lips together. "I overheard you talking about sending for your mother. I think you'd better do it, if you're going to."

Heath's heart slammed against his breastbone. "What are you saying?"

"That wound in his abdomen is infected. I may have to do surgery again. I'm hoping a less aggressive approach may still work, but I can't wait too long. Where'd you say you're from? Stockton? That's two or three days. I'm not saying it's a hopeless case, but if you want your mother to see him, you'd better send that wire."

**MRS VICTORIA BARKLEY**

**BARKLEY RANCH**

**STOCKTON CAL**

**URGENT**

**PLEASE COME RIMFIRE**

**TAKE TRAIN FRY'S JUNCTION **

**FOUND JARROD**

**NICK HURT **

**NEED YOU**

**HEATH**


	13. Part Thirteen

**Part Thirteen**

Heath paid for the telegram and waited for it to be sent and confirmed._ FOUND JARROD. NICK HURT. NEED YOU. _It wasn't much more than that, and the words were stark. Saying everything and telling nothing. They were two or three days from Stockton, but Mother would come. As fast as she could manage, she'd come. It was the waiting that would be hard.

When he'd finished at the telegraph office, Heath went over to the dry goods store to talk to Mateo. The boy was unpacking bolts of cloth from a crate and smiled when Heath came in.

"Good morning, señor. How is your brother who was sick?"

"Not very well this morning, I'm afraid. The doctor's looking after him."

The boy's expression darkened. "I'm sorry for that. I will pray he will be soon well. The doctor, he is a good doctor. He will know what to do."

Heath nodded. "I never got a chance to thank you for riding after him last night. My brothers and I, we appreciate it."

"It was only the good thing to do." Mateo shrugged. "I hope someone will do as much when I have need of help."

Heath pressed a twenty dollar bill into his hand. "We appreciate it all the same."

The boy's brown eyes were suddenly enormous. "You cannot give me this much, señor. It is too much for what I did. Doctor Saxton was nearly back in town when I found him. I only—"

"You take that. Go on. Just be careful you don't lose it."

The boy immediately stuffed the bill down into his worn boot. "Is there something more I can do to help, señor?"

"Just tell me where the general store is. Do they have ready-made gear? Clothes and things?"

"Yes. I will take you there."

Heath smiled a little at the boy's eagerness. "Just the directions will be fine."

The general store was a few buildings down from the saloon. It wasn't big or very fancy, but it had what Heath hoped to find. Jarrod had given the sheriff $1200 when he came into Rimfire, a bribe to get him to send Hyatt out into the street where Jarrod was waiting for him. The sheriff had returned the money to Heath once Jarrod and Hyatt were both in his jail. Heath figured it would come in handy now.

He put $200 on account for the doctor and his wife. Then he bought some supplies to make up for what he and Jarrod had eaten since they'd been guests at their house and what they were likely to eat over the next few days. Jarrod and Nick both were going to have to build up their strength before they'd be able to make the trip back home. Heath meant to see they had the means. The only thing he couldn't buy was fresh beef.

"We don't keep it regular," the man behind the counter said. "Most folks here raise their own and butcher when they need it."

"What about the hotel?"

"You could try there. Might well be they'd sell you some. Or Mrs. Kenny's boarding house. End of the street."

"All right," Heath said. "Chickens?"

"Mrs. Kenny raises chickens, too. She'd be happy to sell you however many you want."

"I've got to get back to the doc's. I'll pay extra if you'll send a chicken and a good-sized piece of beef over there, wherever you have to get it from."

The storekeeper beamed at him. "I can do that."

"Good. Now what about clothes?"

"Clothes," the man said, "we got."

Heath bought a change of clothes, socks and drawers and all, for himself and both of his brothers. Nick's things were a blood-soaked mess, and it was very likely the doctor's wife had burned them. Jarrod had probably not changed since he'd left the ranch. Heath's own clothes weren't any better than either of theirs. All of them would feel better after they got cleaned up. Nick might not need his for a time, but they'd be there when he was ready.

Heath settled his bill as quickly as he could. "I'd appreciate it if you'd have everything taken over to Doc Saxton's for me. I gotta go check on my brothers."

"We'll do 'er, Mr. Barkley. Yes, sir. Right away."

Sheriff Fain hailed Heath the minute he stepped back into the street. "I was just coming to see you, Mr. Barkley. You headed back to the doc's?"

Heath nodded, still walking. The sheriff fell in beside him.

"How are your brothers?"

"Nick's in a bad way. He was awake enough to talk to me a little while ago, but the pain was so bad, the doctor had to put him under again." Heath drew a steadying breath. "Doc told me I ought to send for our mother."

"I'm sorry. And your oldest brother?"

"Jarrod's worn out. Dr. Saxton said he'd likely sleep a while more. After that, I don't know. He seems better. I think knowing Hyatt's going to be punished for what he did helps him some."

"It won't change what happened."

"It won't," Heath agreed, "but at least he'll see the law working the way it ought to." He stopped where he was. "He's a lawyer. Did you know that?"

The sheriff stopped, too, and his ginger eyebrows went up. "Is he now?"

"Yeah. Good one, too. It was hard for him when the law didn't take care of Hyatt in the first place. I can't see him taking matters into his own hands if it had."

"Then he'll be glad to know there's proof against Hyatt now. Not just about my deputy, but about your brother's wife, too."

"Jarrod said Hyatt's confession wouldn't stand, that he'd just claim he would have said anything to keep Jarrod from killing him."

"I'm not talking about that. I'm talking about an actual witness, the man who took that extra horse up to French Camp so Hyatt could get back to Stockton without being seen. The brand on the horse Hyatt rode into Rimfire on is the same one on the horses his accomplice stole and got caught with. The man'll testify Hyatt paid him to take the horse up there. I checked it just a little while ago. Hyatt doesn't have an alibi anymore."

Heath had to let that sink in for a minute.

"Your brother gonna be all right with that?" Fain asked.

Heath nodded. "He wanted the law to do what it was supposed to do, what he'd always counted on it to do, what he always preached it would do, and it didn't. The law failed him, and I guess he failed it right back. He's not proud of it."

"Well, now maybe this'll set things straight again. At least a little straighter than they have been."

"Yeah." Heath started walking toward the doctor's office again. "If it's not too late."

OOOOO

"I'm sorry," Mrs. Saxton said when Heath and the sheriff came into the house. "I don't have much bacon this morning, but there's potatoes and some cheese and plenty of eggs. Will you join us, Zach?"

"I'm obliged, Caroline," the sheriff said, "but I've had mine. I'd take coffee, if it's not a bother."

"I'll get you some. Mr. Barkley, the doctor said you're to eat this morning."

Heath gave her a grateful nod. "I'll do that, ma'am, and thank you. I've just been over at the general store. They ought to be bringing you over some extra supplies anytime now. It may not seem like it quite yet, but me and my brothers can eat our way through a whole winter's provisions in just a day or two if we're not watched close."

Her eyes twinkled. "I'll keep a lookout. And thank you. Why don't you both come sit down in the kitchen."

"I will in a minute," Heath said. "I need to see if Jarrod's awake and how Nick is."

"I took your older brother some coffee just a few minutes ago. The doctor has been tending to your middle brother since you left. He thinks more surgery might not be necessary."

Heath let out a taut breath. "That's good to know. I'll be back as soon as I've talked to him."

He went to the back room as found Jarrod drinking coffee as the doctor's wife had said.

"I thought you'd sleep a while longer," Heath told him. "How's Nick?"

Nick was still unconscious, and the doctor was rebandaging the wound in his abdomen.

"I managed to drain off some of the infection. His temperature is down. Not a lot, but it has improved. Now if you would get your brother there to put something in his stomach besides coffee and get cleaned up, I'll consider this a successful morning."

"Did you wire Mother?" Jarrod asked, his eyes fixed on Nick.

"Yeah," Heath said. "I don't see how she could be here before tomorrow night, but I'm sure she'll try." He gave Jarrod the cash he had left over from the $1200 the sheriff had returned to him. "I've been spending your money."

Jarrod stuffed the bills into his pants pocket and didn't ask any questions.

"Nick'll be all right here without us for a little while, doc?" Heath asked.

"I won't leave him."

Jarrod narrowed his eyes at his youngest brother. "I'm not leaving him either."

"Just for a few minutes, Jarrod," Heath said. "Like Dr. Saxton said, you need to eat something and get cleaned up."

"Later."

"The doctor's doing all he can right now, and the sheriff needs to talk to you."

"What about?"

"About Hyatt. You'd better come hear him out."

After a moment, Jarrod stood up. He put the back of his hand to Nick's forehead and then, seeming reasonably satisfied, followed Heath to the kitchen.

OOOOO

"Morning, Mr. Barkley," the sheriff said when Jarrod and Heath went into the kitchen.

The brothers sat down, and Mrs. Saxton put full plates in front of them along with fresh cups of coffee. Heath immediately started to eat. Jarrod only looked at Fain.

"I understand you have news about Hyatt," he said.

"We have proof he killed your wife." There was a hard, satisfied gleam in the sheriff's eye. "Proof that'll stand up in court."

Jarrod's fist clenched as he listened to what Fain said about the man who had stolen the horse Hyatt had ridden down from French Camp the day Beth was murdered.

"How do you know all this," Jarrod said, his voice almost a growl.

"I sent a wire to your sheriff in Stockton, just to let him know Hyatt was here. He said there's another lawman who's been looking for Hyatt. The one who arrested this man Simms for stealing horses. He knew about the case with your wife, and he's been after Hyatt ever since. Hyatt's brother sent them the wrong way, but I wired him, too. He and his men ought to be here sometime tomorrow or next day. They'll see he gets to where he belongs."

Heath squeezed Jarrod's arm, hope and relief in his eyes. "It's over."

Jarrod wouldn't let himself feel the same way, not quite yet. "It's not over until he hangs."


	14. Part Fourteen

**Part Fourteen**

"I know how you feel, Mr. Barkley." The sheriff put his elbows on the table in Dr. Saxton's kitchen and took a long, slow sip of his coffee. "When the first Mrs. Fain was killed, I wanted the cowboy who did it to hang. Didn't happen that way. He didn't even go to prison. But it didn't make any difference in the long run. She was still gone and the pain of it didn't go away. Not for a long time."

"The law failed you, too." Jarrod looked into his own cup and saw nothing but black.

"Your brother tells me you're a lawyer."

"Was," Jarrod said.

"Are," Heath corrected.

"I don't know. After what I've done, I could very well be disbarred. Maybe I'll resign before that happens."

"Jarrod."

"Look, maybe I've just been fooling myself all along, thinking I can make a difference. The whole legal system is a mess. I might as well tell my clients to roll dice as have me represent them. The outcome would be the same."

"That's not true."

"I've felt the same sometimes," the sheriff admitted. "About my own job. But then I think even if I can help only a little bit, isn't it better than leaving the whole town to fall apart?"

Jarrod made no comment.

"I know you want to see Hyatt dead," Fain began, and Jarrod glared into his eyes, making him falter and look away.

"I'm not saying I don't. But that's not what I mean about this not being over till he hangs. I mean there's no guarantee he'll pay for what he did, not to Beth and not to your deputy and not to whoever else he's wronged, not until he's sentenced and hanged. You've seen it before, sheriff. Heaven knows I have. A case that seems ironclad, and the jury comes back with a verdict that's nothing short of insanity. Or the judge dismisses the charges."

Fain winced at that.

"Jarrod, maybe you ought to just eat and not worry about Hyatt for now," Heath said. "You don't know—"

"Or the verdict is changed on appeal," Jarrod said, trampling whatever else Heath wanted to say. "Or the governor grants a pardon. Hyatt was pardoned, and that gave him the chance to murder my wife. He should never have been pardoned in the first place. He was guilty."

Heath merely looked at him, not attempting to say anything else.

"It's not over till Hyatt's hanged. I've seen things happen to others, to clients of mine, where they were not given justice, and I glibly assured them the system works more often than not. Maybe it does. Maybe I'm not so sure anymore. I just know what I did only made everything worse. For everybody."

The sheriff shrugged. "I guess the only time we'll ever see real justice is when we're standing before the Almighty. And even then the only hope the best of us has is mercy."

Jarrod looked down at his untouched food. Justice. Mercy. The Almighty. The true Judge. That Judge wasn't Jarrod Barkley.

He picked up his fork and started to eat. Heath exhaled and returned to his own breakfast, his shoulders taut as he hunched over his plate.

Jarrod put his fork down again. "I'm sorry, Heath. I didn't even let you finish what you were saying."

Heath looked at him, one eyebrow raised.

"You've been more patient through all this than I deserve. And you're right. Whatever happens to Hyatt is out of my hands. I've got more important things to worry about." Jarrod rubbed his eyes. "I guess it's time I checked on Nick."

He started to stand up, but Heath put one hand on his arm, keeping him where he was.

"Eat your breakfast first, counselor. You pontificate when you're hungry."

Jarrod couldn't hold back a low laugh. "Pontificate, Brother Heath?"

"Nobody could be around you this long, Jarrod, and not pick up at least a few of your two-dollar words."

Heath gave Jarrod that one-sided little smile that was so like Father's, and somehow it was very comforting. Jarrod ate.

OOOOO

After breakfast, Jarrod and Heath found Nick still sleeping, comfortably it seemed.

"How is he?" Jarrod asked quietly.

"I've been keeping one of my special poultices on the wound," Dr. Saxton said. "It's helping draw some of the poison out. He seems to be improving. My wife tells me the supplies you ordered from the general store have been delivered."

"Good," Heath said.

"She tells me you bought something to change into."

"Yeah. Our duds are in pretty bad shape."

The doctor nodded. "That's excellent. I've asked her to heat some water for both of you. I want you to bathe and shave and put on your new clothes."

"We can see to that later," Jarrod said, looking at Nick.

"You can see to it now, if you please, Mr. Barkley. Your brother will do better for having everything in here as clean as it can possibly be. That includes you. Now is as good a time as any. He's sleeping naturally, and his temperature is down."

Jarrod laid his hand against Nick's forehead. It was still too warm, but it wasn't as bad as it had been.

The doctor patted Jarrod's arm and turned him toward the door. "Either I or my wife will be with him until you come back. You needn't worry."

OOOOO

Jarrod waited until he was alone in the bedroom belonging to the doctor and his wife, then he peeled off his soiled clothes, unwound the bandages from his wrists, and lowered himself into the warm water that filled the tin bathtub Mrs. Saxton had prepared for him. He sank down until the water covered him entirely, stinging his wrists and the gash along the side of his head, soaking the blood and the sweat and the grime out of his hair. He stayed there until there was no more air in his lungs. _It's an awful thing to drown._

He sat up with a gasp, pushing the memory away, and the air around him was cold on his wet skin. He took a deeper breath and ducked under again, running his hands through his tangled hair and down his body, washing away the filth from every hour of every day since he had sunk his fingers into the fresh dirt of Beth's grave, washing away the thoughts that whirled through his head, everything that had happened, everything that would happen, everything that would have to be done and everything that couldn't be undone. He couldn't think of it now. He had to have a moment, just a moment, of peace.

Eyes still closed, he lifted his head enough to fill his lungs again with air. Then he leaned back against the edge of the tub, forcing himself to think of nothing but this moment, of clean, hot water and soap that stung his eyes and the rough cloth that washed him clean, of the fresh clothes that awaited him there on the chair and the razor that would take the unkempt stubble from his face, of Nick sleeping peacefully and Mother coming soon and the hope of mercy that wouldn't let him go. For this moment, it was enough. It was enough.


	15. Part Fifteen

**Part Fifteen**

"Much better," Dr. Saxton said when Jarrod and Heath showed up clean and shaved and wearing new clothes.

All Jarrod had from home now was his belt and his boots. His hat was long gone. A few minutes ago, he had stuffed everything else into the potbelly stove to burn. He suspected Heath had done the same with his own things after bathing in Mrs. Saxton's washtub in the kitchen.

"Now," the doctor said after he had rebandaged Jarrod's wrists , "if either or both of you will keep watch over your brother, I have a boy with a broken ankle, two children with whooping cough, an old man with the gout, and a consumption patient to check on. Most likely, I'll have a baby to deliver before the day is out. Mrs. Saxton will be here. There's not much she can't help you with if you need her, but I don't expect you will. If we're fortunate, your brother ought to come around before too much longer. If he does, get him to drink a lot of water. I told Mrs. Saxton to make some broth from that chicken you had sent over. Get him to take as much of that as he will. Keep him as still as you can."

Heath snorted, and Jarrod knew it was at the idea of keeping Nick still, but he made no comment.

"We'll see to him," Jarrod said. "Thank you for staying with him as long as you have."

The doctor shook his head. "I wish I could do more, Mr. Barkley. To be honest, no matter how hard I try, I can't do all that needs doing. But I figure I can help some, and that's better than helping nobody."

Jarrod looked at him for a moment. "Yes, I believe it is. It's certainly meant a lot to us."

"All right then," the doctor said, tucking his black bag under his arm. "I will be back as soon as I'm able. You mind what I said, and your brother should do all right. Caroline?" he called as he opened the front door. "I'll be starting at Clara Miller's. Send word if you need me."

"Be careful," she replied from the kitchen door. "I'll be cooking some of that beef Mr. Barkley had sent over this morning. You be home for supper."

"I'll do my best, my dear."

Once he was gone, Jarrod and Heath went into the back room. The single window was open, letting in the sunshine and fresh air. Nick's bedding and bandages had been changed, and everything was clean and crisp. Nick was still asleep.

Once more, Jarrod sat in the chair by the bed. Heath got another chair from the doctor's office and pulled it up next to him. For a long time, they didn't say anything, just sat listening to Mrs. Saxton singing softly over her kitchen chores and the mantel clock striking every quarter hour.

"I put two hundred dollars on the doctor's account over at the store," Heath said finally. "I figured it'd make things a little easier on him and his wife while they're trying to help out here."

"I'm glad you did. We owe them a lot more than that."

"I figure it's a start. Gotta be hard for a man like that, out here trying to take care of everybody for a hundred miles all by himself, knowing he can't see to all the folks who need him." Heath glanced at Nick. "Sure makes a big difference to the ones he can help."

"Like the sheriff," Jarrod said, knowing where his brother was going.

"And the lawyer."

Jarrod scoffed, and they were silent again.

A little while after noon, Mrs. Saxton brought them each a plate of baked chicken and fried potatoes and gravy. She checked Nick's pulse and his temperature while she was there and evidently found both unremarkable.

"I've got some broth on the stove for when he wakes up," she half-whispered. "You just let me know."

Jarrod thanked her, and then he and Heath ate. She was a good cook. Afterward, they both drank water from the freshly filled pitcher near the bed and then sat again.

"Mother ought to be close by now," Heath said, looking out the window after awhile. It didn't face the street, but from it you could see the road as it curved out of town and into the hills. The shadows had stretched into late afternoon.

"Maybe tonight sometime," Jarrod said. "Or tomorrow."

Somewhere out front, they heard the sounds of three or four horses and riders and then the street was quiet again. About half an hour later, Sheriff Fain came to the doctor's house.

"Well now," the sheriff said when he saw Jarrod and Heath. "Durned if clothes don't make the man." He stuck out his hand. "I'm Zach Fain, sheriff 'round these parts. I don't believe we've met."

Heath grinned and shook hands with him. "I'm Heath Barkley. This is my brother Jarrod."

"What do you hear from that posse, sheriff?" Jarrod asked, not smiling.

"That's what I came to talk to you about. They just got in a little while ago. Ackerman's the sheriff up at French Camp. He caught Jimmy Simms and found out he was the one who took that extra horse up to the camp so Hyatt could come to Stockton and kill your wife. He'd like to talk to you when you have time."

"Okay." Jarrod stood up. "Now all right?"

"As good as any." Fain looked at Nick. "He doing any better?"

"A little. I don't like to leave him for long."

"All right. Come on over and talk to Ackerman, and then you can get right back."

OOOOO

Sheriff Ackerman had to have been at least in his fifties, and he showed every day of it. His grizzled hair was long and unkempt, seemingly a part of the scraggly beard that ended at his belly. His eyes were sloe-black, two hard points of light in the deep creases of his weatherbeaten face. His men, Brandt and Kern, were younger, but pretty much like him. Clearly, they were all used to dealing with hard cases. It didn't seem likely they'd put up with even a poorly chosen breath from Hyatt on the way back to Stockton.

"This is Mr. Jarrod Barkley," Sheriff Fain said.

"Mr. Barkley." Ackerman shook his hand. "I expect Fain here has already told you we've come for Hyatt."

Jarrod nodded. "He has."

"I understand you've already made a statement to Sheriff Madden in Stockton about him shooting your woman."

"My wife."

"Yeah. We got that. Anything you'd like to add to that statement when I get back to Stockton?"

"There is." Jarrod looked at Fain. "I want to state that Hyatt admitted he killed my wife when he was trying to get at me. I also want to file charges against him for the attempted murder of both of my brothers."

"From what you told me," Fain said, "the one about Nick ought to hold up. I'm not as sure about your other brother, Heath. Assault, but I don't know about anything more. Hyatt could have killed him right off if he'd wanted to."

"I don't know why he didn't," Jarrod admitted. "I think Hyatt probably meant to do something to Heath after he'd killed Nick, but I don't know. I want everything Hyatt did taken into account."

Fain pulled a sheet of paper out of his desk drawer, flipped open the inkwell and handed Jarrod a pen. "You write it down, however you want, and sign it. I'll witness it for you, and we'll send it to Stockton with Hyatt."

Jarrod sat down at the desk and began to write.

_I, Jarrod Thomas Barkley of Stockton, California, affirm that the following is a true account of the incidents leading up to and following the murder of my wife, Elizabeth Randall Barkley. On the 6__th__ day of May of this year, I was informed that the Governor of the State of California had pardoned Cass Hyatt, who was then serving a sentence for the crime of— _

Uncomfortable under the scrutiny of the two sheriffs and the two other men, Jarrod looked up at Fain. "I'm sorry. I have a feeling this is going to be much more involved than I realized. Would it be all right if I finish this back over at the doctor's office?"

"Sure. Take your time. Just bring it back here before you sign so I can witness your signature."

"We'll be leaving first thing in the morning," Ackerman drawled. "If you want us to take that statement with us, have it here by then."

Jarrod stood up, paper in hand. "I'll do that."

"And don't you worry about Hyatt cutting any didos while he's riding with us. All that'll get him is stone dead." Ackerman peered at Jarrod. "You want to see him before you go?"

"The only time I ever want to see him again is in court."

OOOOO

Jarrod went back over to the doctor's office. Mrs. Fain smiled at him when he came in.

"I'm about to put supper on the table, Mr. Barkley. Come on and sit down when you're ready. Tell your brother."

Jarrod thanked her and went into the back room.

Heath was sitting in the chair by the bed. "And we have all those calves that need branding up in the north pasture, not to mention that whole line of fence being down up there. And I swear I'm gonna get a rope on that palomino I've seen running around up in that canyon. He's fast as a bullet and slicker than paint and ought to sire some mighty fine colts. Besides that, we need to—"

Heath looked up, realizing Jarrod was behind him. Nick was still sleeping.

"Everything all right?" Jarrod asked.

"Yeah, uh, I just thought maybe it'd do him good to know somebody was here with him."

Jarrod clasped his youngest brother's shoulder. "I'm sure you're right. How's he doing?"

Heath shrugged. "About the same. Did you get your statement done?"

"Not yet." Jarrod set the almost-blank page on the dresser. "I'll have to write it out tonight. I want it to be as well laid out as I can, and that's going to take a little time. I told the sheriff I want to file a complaint about what Hyatt did to you and Nick, too." He cut Heath off when he started to protest. "What happened to you is important, Heath. He could have killed you, too."

"All right, Jarrod. I just want him to answer for what he did to Beth and to Nick and to you."

"I want the court to know everything. At least some of it has got to stick. The more we have against Hyatt, the better our chances."

Jarrod put his hand on Nick's forehead and frowned.

"What is it?" Heath asked at once. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong. He feels a little cooler to me. What do you think?"

Heath pressed the back of his hand to Nick's face. "Feel's cooler to me, too. That's got to be good, right?"

"Durn right it's good," Nick muttered.

"Well." Blinking back the tears that stung his eyes, Jarrod smiled and took hold of Nick's hand. "Good evening, Brother Nick. Good to have you back."

"How are you feeling?" Heath asked.

"Like I been buried under a ton of rocks for about a month," Nick growled, his eyes still closed. "How are you?"

Heath laughed softly. "Better now." He looked at Jarrod. "Maybe I'd better get Mrs. Saxton to give him a look over."

Jarrod nodded, and Heath left the room. Jarrod sat in his empty chair.

"Really, Nick, how are you doing?"

Nick opened his eyes about halfway, and a sleepy grin brought out the deep crease in his cheek. "Good to see you, Pappy. You scared me a while there."

"I know, and I'm sorry. I was so—"

"You said all that already. Don't think I don't remember." He tightened his grip on Jarrod's hand. "Don't think I don't understand."

"Nick—" Jarrod didn't know what to say. Maybe there was nothing to be said. Nick understood. "You want something to drink."

"A little," Nick admitted, and Jarrod sat him up so he could drink.

"Are you hungry?" he asked Nick afterward. "I think the doctor's wife has some broth for you. How'd that be?"

"Aw, Jarrod. Broth?"

"Now, Nick—"

"Hundred dollars for a piece of steak," Nick said out of the side of his mouth.

Jarrod laughed. "You don't have a hundred dollars."

"I'll borrow it from you."

"I think you'd better start with the broth for now."

Nick sighed and shut his eyes. Jarrod realized he was asleep again.

OOOOO

The doctor came home about halfway through supper. His assessment of Nick's condition agreed with his wife's. They were both cautiously optimistic.

"If he'll behave himself and take it easy for a while, I think I'll be able to send your brother home before too much longer."

"That'd be great," Heath said. "Our mother ought to be here anytime now. If anybody can get Nick to behave, it'll be her."

Dr. Saxton joined them at the table, and with him and his wife talking about the patients he had seen that day, including the new little girl he brought into the world, it was a peaceful pleasant meal. Still, Jarrod couldn't help thinking about what Heath had said. Mother would be with them soon. What would she say when she finally got into Rimfire? When she heard about everything Jarrod had done and who had shot Nick?

He knew she would be worried and had been worried all this time. When he had left home to go after Hyatt, he had pushed aside the worry in her eyes, the fear, the pleading. Worst of all, he had pushed aside her wisdom.

"_I know the emptiness you must be feeling, but killing Cass Hyatt is not going to fill that emptiness. It will still be there."_

Well, Hyatt was as good as dead now, and the emptiness was still there. Beth was still gone. There was still that agonizing, blood-seeping wound in the center of his soul, and the shame and self-loathing he felt now at the disaster he had left behind him in his lust for revenge did not fill it. He'd have to learn to live with it, with all of it, and keep constant guard over whatever it was inside him that had burst out after Beth was killed.

After dinner, Jarrod convinced Heath to get some sleep, promising he'd take his turn later in the night. Then he picked up the piece of paper he had left on the dresser in Nick's room. He was going to write out this statement as carefully as he ever had written any critical brief for any of his cases. He was going to succinctly and logically lay out everything Hyatt had done to him and his family. Then he would send it to Stockton and be finished with it all.

He read over what he had already written.

_I, Jarrod Thomas Barkley of Stockton, California, affirm that the following is a true account of the incidents leading up to and following the murder of my wife, Elizabeth Randall Barkley. On the 6__th__ day of May of this year, I was informed that the Governor of the State of California had pardoned Cass Hyatt, who was then serving a sentence for the crime of— _

Starting where he had left off, Jarrod began to write.


	16. Part Sixteen

**Part Sixteen**

Starting from the time he had been told about Cass Hyatt's pardon, Jarrod began to write. He wrote about meeting Beth, about loving her, about losing her. He wrote about the pain he had caused his mother, his whole family, when he'd let fury and vengeance overrule their love and concern. He wrote about coldly terrorizing anyone and everyone who stood between him and killing Hyatt. He wrote about bribing the sheriff to get him to put Hyatt out on the street, about the rage that had burned through him when Hyatt had confessed to Beth's murder, and about trying to tear him to pieces with his bare hands, punching, kicking and choking like some savage, inhuman thing. He wrote about how he'd tried to drown Hyatt, about shooting Nick who had only tried to save him from himself, about the guilt and despair and wish for death that had consumed him then. He wrote about that terrible night when Hyatt had escaped, when he had bludgeoned Heath and almost drowned Nick. He wrote about coming less than a heartbeat away from strangling Hyatt with the chain on his handcuffs.

_I was going to finish him, _he wrote_. Dear God, I wanted it so badly I could taste it in my mouth and feel it burn in my blood. I wanted it to end. I wanted everything to end. And then—_

Then he'd realized that Heath was still alive and Nick was still alive. He'd heard them pleading with him when they'd called his name, pleading not to save Hyatt, but to save himself. And he knew he couldn't lose them, too. He'd lost Beth. He'd almost lost his brothers, his whole family, himself. And he'd known at that moment that it had to stop. That _he_ had to stop before he could never go back. He wasn't going to throw away himself for Hyatt. Hyatt wasn't worth it.

The clock on the doctor's mantel whirred and struck two. He'd been writing half the night, and now there was a stack of densely filled pages before him on the desk there in the doctor's office, pages filled with words poured out like blood from the open wound in his heart. He swiped one hand over his face and was surprised to bring it back wet. Then he laughed almost silently. Everything he had written was useless as far as the court was concerned. He had said very little about Hyatt's crimes and had gone into excruciating detail about his own. But it felt good to have it all there, put onto paper and put out of his tortured mind. It didn't fix anything, not really, but it did make him feel easier.

He took a fresh piece of paper from the desk drawer and began writing again.

_I, Jarrod Thomas Barkley of Stockton, California, affirm that the following is a true account of the incidents leading up to and following the murder of my wife, Elizabeth Randall Barkley. On the 6__th__ day of May of this year, I was informed that the Governor of the State of California had pardoned Cass Hyatt, who was then serving a sentence for the crime of— _

It was almost dawn when he finished. Before him was a clear and succinct narrative of everything that had happened in Stockton and here in Rimfire and the places Jarrod had traveled in between. Facts— places, people, dates. With Jimmy Simms' testimony about the extra horse, it should be more than enough to indict Hyatt for Beth's murder. Pray God, he'd never be able to murder anyone else.

Jarrod stood up and stretched. Heath was still deeply asleep on the settee. Jarrod looked in on Nick and found him fast asleep, too. That was good. He'd clean himself up, get a cup of coffee and then take the statement over to the sheriff's office to be witnessed. Then he'd be done. But first—

He picked up the stack of papers he had agonized and wept over through the night, the papers that bore witness to his own lawlessness and depravity, to his utter lack of conscience. He had done those things, all of them. It was time he put them away from himself forever.

"Dear God, forgive me all of it, and help me forgive myself," he whispered. "Out of Your mercy."

Then he shoved the pages into the low fire. They flared up for one white-hot moment and then were gone.

He went into the kitchen to shave.

OOOOO

The light was just touching the tops of Rimfire's buildings when Jarrod finished cleaning himself up. He had heard the low voices of Dr. and Mrs. Saxton from their bedroom, so he expected they would be up soon and then that would mean coffee and breakfast. Heath was sitting up on the settee when he walked back into the doctor's office.

"Brother Heath," Jarrod said softly.

"Mornin'." Heath raked through his hair with one hand and then smoothed down the blond tufts. "I thought you were going to call me when you were ready to sleep."

Jarrod shrugged. "Guess I wasn't ready to sleep."

"Your statement?"

"Yeah. It took me quite a while to get it down the way it ought to be, but I think I finally got it right. There was a lot to be said."

Heath covered a yawn with one hand and stood up. "Glad you got it done. I'm ready to get out of this town and back home the minute Nick's well enough to leave."

"Amen to that, Brother Heath. Shall we go see how he's doing this morning?"

"He must have slept through the night all right."

"Must have," Jarrod said. "He was asleep every time I looked in on him."

"Maybe it's time he got a little food into him, too."

"Last time he was awake, he offered me a hundred dollars for a piece of steak."

Heath grinned. "That sounds like Nick."

"What are you two whispering about?" Nick demanded from the back room.

"That definitely sounds like Nick," Jarrod said, and he and Heath walked over to him.

"Mornin', big brother," Heath said.

"How are you feeling, Nick?" Jarrod asked.

Nick scowled at him. "Starved. What does it take to get some steak and eggs around here?"

"Approval from the doctor."

Nick's scowl deepened.

"Cheer up, Brother Nick. Mother ought to be here sometime today."

"Great. Then I'll never get to eat anything but oatmeal and broth."

"Did someone say broth?" The doctor's wife came in with a bowl and a spoon in her hands. "Well, Mr. Barkley, how are you this morning?"

Nick ducked his head. "Fine, thank you, ma'am."

She handed Heath the broth and checked Nick's temperature and pulse.

"The doctor will be in to see you soon," she said, "but I think you've improved. Now that doesn't mean you're ready to challenge anybody to a footrace, but you're definitely better. You let your brothers feed you all of that broth you can manage. It'll be good for you."

"Yes, ma'am," Nick said meekly, wriggling himself down into the bed more and not meeting her eye. "Thank you, ma'am."

"All right then. I'm going to go serve up breakfast. You boys make sure he eats some of that broth and then come to the kitchen."

"Thank you," Jarrod said.

"You're more than welcome, all of you."

She left the room, shutting the door behind her.

"What's the matter, Nick?" Heath asked. "You look like you just swallowed a big dose of castor oil."

"You didn't tell me there was going to be a lady in the room."

"That's just the doctor's wife," Jarrod said. "She's been helping to look after you since you've been here."

"I don't care whose wife she is," Nick grumbled. "She's still a lady."

"But, Nick—"

"I got no clothes on!"

Heath snorted and then quickly coughed, making his expression carefully neutral.

Jarrod wanted to laugh, too, but he only gave Nick a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. "But you have some nice thick blankets."

"Yeah, well you can have the blankets. I want some clothes."

When the doctor came in a few minutes later, Nick harangued him into letting him at least put on the new drawers the man from the general store had brought over with the other supplies the day before. The doctor said he could put on the rest of his clothes before too much longer. He absolutely refused to let Nick have his gun belt or his boots.

"You'll survive," Jarrod assured him when the doctor had left the room. "Now be a good boy and eat your broth. The quicker you get strong, the quicker we can all go home."

"I'll make sure he eats," Heath said. "You'd better get your statement over to the sheriff's office before that posse leaves without it."

"Right. Nick, you eat."

"Yeah, yeah," Nick grumbled.

OOOOO

Jarrod got over to the sheriff's office right when Ackerman and his men were getting ready to leave.

"We'd about given up on you, Mr. Barkley," the sheriff from French Camp said, his gimlet eyes gleaming. "You got your statement ready to go?"

"Just need to sign it and have it witnessed," Jarrod told him.

He could hear the other two men back where the cells were. One of them was telling Hyatt to be quick about finishing his breakfast unless he wanted it knocked out of his hands. Hyatt wasn't saying anything. Jarrod didn't want to see him.

He quickly signed his statement and pushed it toward Fain. "If you'll be good enough, sheriff."

Fain glanced over the statement and then signed his name below Jarrod's as witness. Then he folded the pages and put them in an envelope.

"There you are," he said, handing the envelope to Ackerman. "I guess you're all set."

"You watch out for yourself, Mr. Barkley," Ackerman said, shaking Jarrod's hand. "And don't you fret over anything. We'll get Hyatt to Stockton, or there won't be anything left of him to get."

Jarrod nodded. "When you get there, let Sheriff Madden know we'll be back in town as soon as my brother Nick can travel."

"We'll do 'er."

Ackerman's two deputies came from the holding area.

"He's cuffed and ready, sheriff," one of them said.

"All right." Ackerman glanced toward the cells and then peered through the front window of the sheriff's office. "You and Kern go on over to the livery stable, load up the pack horse, and saddle up. I've already got my mount and the prisoner's out front. Fain here'll help me with Hyatt."

"Right."

With a jingle of spurs, the two deputies strode out of the office.

"I'll be going," Jarrod said, and he nodded at Fain. "Sheriff."

He turned toward the door and heard Ackerman's heavy footsteps behind him, headed towards the cells.

"All right, Hyatt," the French Camp sheriff growled. "On your feet and don't get mouthy. I don't want to have to tell you more than once that—"

Jarrod shut the door behind him and stood for a moment on the boardwalk. It was a clear morning, and the air was cool and fresh. It felt clean and good in his lungs. Everything was done. Only the trial was left, but that would come later. It was likely there'd be things Jarrod would have to answer for himself, but those, too, would come later. For now, everything was done. It was over.

He smiled to see Heath step out onto the doctor's porch on the other side of the street, cup of coffee in hand.

"Hey, Jarrod! You're missing breakfast. You want steak or ham?"

Jarrod stepped into the street, and then he froze, hearing the door open behind him, hearing the sound of boots on the boardwalk and the rattle of handcuffs.

"All right," Ackerman said. "You get on that horse and sit quiet. Help him up, Fain."

Jarrod didn't turn. He didn't want to see Hyatt. All of that was over. He lifted his head and started walking again, walking toward Heath.

He was almost at the doctor's front door when he heard sudden chaos behind him, the whinny and rearing of horses, men scrambling, scuffling, and swearing. Jarrod spun, reaching instinctively for his gun, but he didn't have one.

"All right," Hyatt said, backing toward the sheriff's door, the gun he held in his manacled hands pointing at Ackerman. "Don't you try it."

Fain's holster was empty now, and he lay where he had fallen in between the two skittish horses. Ackerman was crouched beside his mount, motionless with his hand inches away from his own gun.

"Over there," Hyatt ordered, nodding toward the alley that ran beside the sheriff's office. "Easy. And then don't make a move, either of you."

With two fingers, Ackerman plucked his gun from his holster and tossed it away.

Hyatt fixed his eyes on Jarrod. "Now you, Barkley."

Jarrod held up both hands. "I'm not armed."

Hyatt grinned. "I don't care."

"Jarrod," Heath said low behind him, but Heath wasn't armed either.

"Keep still, Heath," Jarrod warned.

"Just stay where you are, Barkley," Hyatt said. "You two sheriffs, I want you both to get up now. Nice and slow."

Fain and Ackerman did as they were told.

"Now get over across the street there. Keep your hands up, and don't get between me and Barkley."

Hands raised, the two sheriffs crossed over to the other side of the street. Jarrod stood where he was. Hyatt would have his revenge at last. He had to know he was a dead man anyway. Between Beth's murder and that young deputy's, he'd hang before too long. He had this one last chance to take Jarrod down before he did.

Jarrod drew a deep breath. Maybe, after all he'd done, he'd always known it would end like this. He'd sown the wind. It was time he reaped the whirlwind.

"Grace and mercy," he breathed, reminding himself, whether it came here or afterward, he had to trust it was there. Then he lifted his chin, staring straight into Hyatt's deceptively mild eyes. "Well?"

"Jarrod," Heath pled.

"If you're gonna kill me, Hyatt, then get it done."

Hyatt smirked, that damnable, smug, unbearable smirk of his. "I told you already, Barkley. I won't do you the favor." He motioned with his gun. "You. Heath Barkley. You step out where I can see you."

Jarrod didn't turn. "Don't move, Heath."

"Do it, boy," Hyatt said, "or I'll blow his head right off."

"Jarrod," Heath breathed.

"Don't," Jarrod barked. "He's going to kill me anyway. What does he have to lose? Just back away. Go inside and shut the door. He can't hit you from where he's standing as long as you stay behind me."

"You told me he didn't want to kill you, just make you suffer. If that's true, he won't—"

"Now, boy!" Hyatt screamed. "Now or you're both dead!"

"Don't do it, Hyatt," Fain said. "Don't make things worse."

"Worse than hanging?" Hyatt grinned. "Well, you just explain to me what that is."

"Put down that gun, Hyatt," Ackerman spat. "Or I swear to God, you'll wish hanging was all you had coming."

"They can only hang me once, sheriff. To tell the truth, right this minute I don't much care how many I take with me." Hyatt looked past Jarrod again. "Come on out now, boy. I swear this gun's gonna go off one way or other."

Jarrod heard Heath's boots on the boardwalk. "Heath, don't. You can't—"

But Heath was beside him now, narrowed eyes fixed on Hyatt, coffee cup still in his hand.

"That's good, boy," Hyatt purred. "Now you watch close, Barkley, and all your life remember why."

He took aim, and Jarrod threw himself sideways, knocking Heath off his feet, feeling the sickening thud and burn of a bullet in his flesh and Heath's coffee scalding his side, hearing the hail of bullets that came from the alley, bullets that hammered Hyatt's body, spinning him and throwing him back against the sheriff's door, dead before he could fall.

"Jarrod!" Heath scrambled to his knees and pulled Jarrod into his arms, tearing off his bandana and stuffing it into the searing wound. "Jarrod."

Jarrod managed to look up at him, but everything was turning dark around him. Fain was standing over him, concern on his long face. He heard Ackerman's heavy step as he ran toward the alleyway near the sheriff's office.

"Good work, boys," the French Camp sheriff said. "I think you got all twelve into him."

"Jarrod," Heath said again. "The doctor's coming. Jarrod?"

"Okay," Jarrod said, but it came out as little more than a breath.

Heath shook him. "Jarrod."

Jarrod's eyes fluttered closed. He heard a buggy pull up close, the sound of running feet as another voice called to him. He tried to open his eyes, but the darkness was pulling at him. He struggled to say something, and then cool hands were on his face and tender lips pressed to his forehead.

"Jarrod, darling."

"Mother," he breathed at last, and the darkness swept over him.


	17. Part Seventeen

**Part Seventeen**

"Jarrod. Jarrod, darling."

Victoria held her oldest son to her heart, her tears falling into his black hair. He was so thin now, so worn, so . . . haunted looking. His poor wrists were so terribly scraped and bruised, she could only wonder what condition the rest of him was in. Heath put a comforting arm around her, and she lifted pleading eyes to his.

"He's been through all hell and then some, Mother. Guess it's over now."

"Nick?"

"Nick's inside. He's doing all right."

A white-haired man with a black bag hurried out of the house behind them and immediately knelt at Jarrod's side. "I'm Doctor Saxton, ma'am. Let me see what we have here."

She loosened her hold, and the doctor untied the bandana binding Jarrod's upper arm so he could examine the steadily bleeding wound. Then he packed a wad of gauze into the bullet hole and tied the bandana back again. "That will serve until we can get him inside. Mr. Barkley, if you and the sheriff wouldn't mind."

"Right," Heath said, and he slid his hands under Jarrod's arms, letting Jarrod's head rest against his chest.

The man with a badge who had been standing silently beside them bent to take Jarrod's legs. "My name's Fain, ma'am," he said as they lifted her son up. "I'm sheriff here in Rimfire. I expect you're Mrs. Barkley."

She nodded, hurrying beside him as they carried Jarrod toward the doctor's office. "How did this happen?"

Fain glanced at Heath. "You'd best let your boy there give you the details. He can tell you more than I can, except I was putting Hyatt on his horse while Sheriff Ackerman was mounting his own. Quick as a cat, Hyatt spooked both horses and grabbed my gun in the confusion. I guess you saw the rest. Sheriff Ackerman's men came up through the alley to finish Hyatt off before he could do anymore damage."

"All I saw was Jarrod and Heath falling and—"

She looked over to the other side of the street. There were three other men there, Ackerman and his deputies, she supposed, who were leaning over the blood-soaked body at the sheriff's door.

"Cass Hyatt?" she asked Heath.

"Cass Hyatt."

She refused to let the fury running in her blood show in her face. The man was dead. God was both just and merciful. He would know what Hyatt rightly deserved. She had her sons to think of now.

They laid Jarrod on the worn settee in the doctor's office. Victoria stood there, her hand resting on Jarrod's pale cheek as the doctor began to work. Heath had his arm around her again, and she leaned into him, soaking in his warmth and strength.

"I don't think you need to worry too much, Mrs. Barkley," the doctor said after a minute or two. "The bullet's deep, but I don't think it's done too much damage. I doubt he would have even lost consciousness if it wasn't for the blood loss and if he hadn't already not been sleeping or eating much."

Victoria stroked her son's hair. "Oh, Jarrod."

"Why don't you and your son go check on my other patient now," the doctor said. "I'll have this bullet out and everything patched up in no time."

"Thank you, doctor." She leaned down to touch her lips to Jarrod's forehead. "Thank you very much."

Heath led her to a small bedroom at the back of the doctor's office. There was a sudden ache in her heart when she saw her boisterous middle son lying so still and pale there in a narrow bed clearly too short for his long frame. In his sleep, he had pushed the covers away enough for her to see his shoulder and his abdomen were wrapped in bandages. She covered him again and then stroked his stubbled cheek.

"Tell me."

"He's already been through the worst of it," Heath said. "The doctor isn't too worried now."

"Which means he has been worried."

"Yeah," Heath admitted. "There was quite a long time when we thought we might lose Nick. And I was afraid, if that happened, we'd lose Jarrod, too."

She closed her eyes, wanting to cry again. What had he been through? What had they all been through?

She put her arms around Heath's waist and laid her head against his chest. He hugged her to him, and she stayed there a long moment, listening to the strong, steady beat of his heart. Then she reached up and stroked a lock of blond hair from his forehead. Tom used to get that same look when he was troubled.

"You look tired, son."

He only shrugged. "I'll be glad when we can get home again."

There were two chairs by the bed. She took one and drew him down into the other. "I want you to tell me what happened. Everything."

Heath took a deep breath. "After we left the ranch, it took me and Nick a little while to figure out where Jarrod was. We finally caught up to him here in Rimfire. He was—" He bit his lip, and there was pain in his expression.

"He was what, Heath?" She took his hand. "Tell me."

Heath closed his eyes. "He was trying to drown Hyatt in the water trough."

"Oh, Heath."

"It was hard seeing him then. He was like some wild animal hungry for blood. I could hardly believe that was even Jarrod."

"But you and Nick stopped him."

"Nick—" Heath dropped his head, the pain in every line of his face intensifying. "Jarrod pulled his gun when Nick put himself between him and Hyatt. Hyatt tried to run. Jarrod tried to shoot him, Nick tried to stop him, and Nick—"

"Nick, what?" Victoria pressed. "Tell me."

"Nick was a durn fool."

She turned to see Nick giving her that little smile of his, the half-abashed, half-cheeky one he always tried on her when he wasn't sure whether or not she was angry with him, the one that brought out the long dimples in his cheeks, the one she could never resist.

"Oh, Nick." Careful not to jostle him too much, she slipped her arms around his neck and kissed him. "Nick, sweetheart, how are you?"

"Glad you're here," he said, his voice rough with sleep. "Ready to go home."

"As soon as you're well enough, I promise. But how are you feeling?"

"Better than I did a couple of days ago, I can tell you that much. But where's Jarrod?" He frowned at the look between his mother and his brother. "What happened?"

"Hyatt tried to escape again," Heath told him.

Victoria's eyes widened. _Again?_

"Hyatt!" Nick spat.

He tried to struggle out of bed, but Heath wouldn't let him get up.

"He's dead now, Nick. Jarrod was shot, but the doctor's looking after him now."

"Jarrod?" Nick struggled harder. "I gotta see him."

"The doctor doesn't think it's serious," Victoria told him.

"Jarrod'll be all right," Heath said. "Just simmer down."

Nick finally relaxed, but Victoria could see there was fear as well as anger in his expression. How had Nick been hurt, and what did Hyatt have to do with that?

"Hyatt escaped more than once?" she asked. "What did he do?"

Nick turned paler than he already was, and Heath squeezed his shoulder.

Victoria put her hands on her hips. "Heath and Nicholas Barkley, I want you both to tell me what's been going on here, and I want you to do it right now."

It took her a while to get the unvarnished truth out of them, and even after that she had more questions than answers. But she decided those questions could wait for another time.

"I think Nick needs to rest," she said at last, not knowing if she could bear to hear more. It was a wonder any of the three of them was still alive.

"Sorry to have worried you," Nick said sheepishly.

She shook her head. "The both of you, I don't know if I should kiss you or spank you."

"You can't spank me," Nick said, that cheeky grin reappearing. "I'm an invalid."

"I'd take a kiss," Heath put in.

She kissed them both. "Now you go to sleep, Nick, and when you wake up, I'll fix you something to eat. We'll talk more then."

"Steak and potatoes?" Nick asked hopefully.

She merely shook her head, and he sunk resignedly back onto his pillows.

"You make sure he behaves himself, Heath," she said, standing up. "I'm going to go check on Jarrod."

Nick grabbed her hand. "He's gonna need you, Mother. He's had a hard time."

"I know. He's going to need us all."

Nick nodded. "And we're not turning loose of him, no matter what."

Victoria kissed him again and then kissed Heath. "I'll be back in a little while."

OOOOO

The mantel clock struck twelve. Maybe it was the whir before it struck that woke him, because he remembered each distinct chime. Noon or midnight? Jarrod wouldn't know if he didn't open his eyes. Maybe he didn't want to know. His arm ached and he wanted to sleep again, but now someone was calling to him, caressing his face.

"You're all right, darling."

He started and then tried to sit up, but gentle hands kept him where he was.

"Shh. Don't get up. Everything's fine now."

"Mother?" He opened his eyes and then screwed them shut again against the harsh light from the front windows. It was definitely noon. "Mmm. Why can't I wake up?"

"You started to come to when the doctor was taking the bullet out of your arm, so he gave you some laudanum. It's wearing off now, so you're a little bit groggy, but you're all right."

"Laudanum." He made a face. "Hate the stuff."

"I know, but it was better than having you awake while he was working on you."

She leaned over him and kissed his forehead, and he realized they were on the settee in the doctor's office and his head was in her lap. When was the last time he'd lain like this? A picnic several summers ago. Father had been alive then. It was a sweet, peaceful memory.

"Mmm." He tried to move the arm that was aching so much, and that only made the pain worse. "How bad is it?"

"Not very bad," she said, and her gray eyes were warm. "You've lost some blood, but the doctor thinks your real problem is your lack of food and sleep for so long a time."

Hearing the archness in her voice, Jarrod looked up at her, feeling all of ten again. "I was about to eat, Mother. I was heading back here for breakfast. Heath had just asked me if I wanted steak or ham. I promise."

She stroked his hair, smiling a little now. "I know, darling. Heath told me so. But that doesn't make up for all the days before now. Did you sleep at all last night?"

"No," he admitted, "but I have a feeling tonight will be better."

"I hope so. I think we could all use a good night's sleep."

He looked at her again, really looked at her. Though she was as immaculate and perfectly put together as always, he could tell she was tired. Her lips were white rather than rosy. There were shadows under her eyes and deeper hollows in her cheeks. He knew he had put them there.

"I'm so sorry, Mother." He sat up and pulled her against him, holding her close with his unbandaged arm. "I'm sorry for what I've put you through. For everything I've done. For not seeing how badly I've hurt everyone I love."

"We were hurting because we knew how badly you were hurting, and we didn't know any way to help you."

Her voice broke, and he laid his cheek against her soft hair.

"Mother, don't. Please, don't. I don't want to hurt you anymore."

"It's over now," she soothed, smiling up at him, tears sparkling in her eyes. "It's over, and we're all going to be fine."

He thought for a moment. "Heath wasn't hurt, was he?"

"No, not a bit. He's only worried about you."

"And Nick?"

Mother laughed softly. "When I went to see him, he tried to talk me into cooking him some steak and potatoes."

"He's going to be all right, isn't he."

"He's going to be just fine. In time."

Jarrod had to force himself to keep his gaze steady. "Did Heath tell you? About everything?"

"Everything." She touched one of Jarrod's bruised wrists. "Including what happened that night."

"And about Nick being shot?"

She looked at him with those penetrating gray eyes, and unable to help himself, he looked away.

"Yes, Jarrod, he told me about that. And Nick did, too."

Tears burned into his eyes.

"Jarrod."

He didn't turn.

"Jarrod, look at me."

He couldn't do it.

"Jarrod. Son." Very tenderly, she turned his face to her. "They both know you didn't mean to hurt him. I know it, too."

"I could have killed him. What if Nick had died?"

"Shh," she soothed, stroking his hair, and there were tears in her voice. "He didn't die. He's not going to die. We can't think of all the terrible what ifs there might have been. I spent every moment since you left home agonizing over the what ifs, and I can't do that anymore. I have to concentrate on the what _is_ and be thankful for it." She stroked back the hair at his left temple, careful of the half-healed bullet crease there. "I didn't know until I got here how close I was to losing the three of you, and I'm so very grateful to know you're all safe. You're all going to be well, and we'll be going home before long."

He nodded. "That's the important thing."

"The important thing is that you know that, whatever you're going through, we will all be there to help you through it. Always. You never have to be alone."

Unable to bear the tender, searching look in those gray eyes, he fell to his knees before her. She kissed his forehead, and then she cupped his face in both of her hands.

"You're loved, Jarrod, and you're forgiven. "

Love and forgiveness. Grace and mercy. So undeserved.

He buried his face in her lap and cried.

OOOOO

Almost two weeks passed before Dr. Saxton gave them permission to take Nick very carefully to the station at Fry's Junction and then by train from there to Stockton. Heath sent wires to the ranch and to Dr. Merar to let them know when they expected to arrive and the help they'd need once they did.

Sheriff Fain and Dr. Saxton were there to see them off that warm June morning. Jarrod was well enough by then to help Heath support Nick as he walked out of the doctor's house. They walked Nick to the back of the wagon they'd bought.

"There's a nice, comfortable pallet for you, Nick," Jarrod said. "You can ride to Fry's Junction in style."

Nick scowled. "Oh, no, no. You know better than that, Heath. I'm not gonna lay down. Put me up front."

"Now, Nick," Heath said, seeing the doctor's disapproval, "you know that's not the plan."

"I've been laying down for months now."

"It hasn't been that long."

"Feels like it. Anyway, you just help me up into the seat. Time I got back on my feet. I've got a working ranch to run."

"Yeah, yeah, we've all heard it."

Nick plucked at the sling cradling Jarrod's arm. "I don't have time to lounge around like some fancy-pants lawyer."

Jarrod smiled serenely. "You will, as usual, Brother Nick, do just as you please. Of course, Mother isn't going to like it."

Mother was standing right behind Nick, arms crossed, gray eyes flashing.

"Just help me sit up front, Heath," Nick said. "Mother won't mind if I'm already up there when she comes out."

"Nick!"

Nick started and then winced. "Mother. I, uh—"

"You behave yourself, Nick, and lie down in the back right this minute."

"But, Mother, I—"

She shook her finger at him. "Nicholas, I said!"

He gave her a mischievous grin, kissed her cheek, and then let Heath help him up into the wagon.

"You mind what your mother says, young man," Dr. Saxton told him. "Doctor's orders."

"Thank you, doctor." Mother got up on the wagon seat next to Heath. "I'm sure he'll have to be reminded all the way back to Stockton."

Jarrod shook the doctor's hand and then the sheriff's, slipping them each a hundred dollar bill as he did.

"You've already been far too generous, Mr. Barkley," the doctor protested.

Fain shook his head. "I can't take this."

"Not a bribe this time," Jarrod assured him. "It's just something to help both of you along while you try to do impossible, thankless jobs."

"We do what we can," the sheriff said, "but it takes everybody doing his own part to really make a difference. Lawmen. Doctors." He raised one ginger eyebrow. "Lawyers."

Jarrod shrugged. "Maybe so. Those who have the strength."

The doctor put one hand on his shoulder. "When we do what we're made for, I believe we're given the strength. If we help one another along. And if we don't give up."

The lawman and the doctor helped Jarrod up into the wagon, and he sat next to Nick, his back braced against the wagon seat. It was a long way from Rimfire to Stockton. He'd have plenty of time to think and plenty to think about. Beth was gone, but he was not alone.

Heath turned around to him. "Ready, Jarrod?"

"Yeah. Let's get moving."

With a lurch, the wagon started forward, and with every step the horses took, the buildings of the town grew sparser. Soon they would be into the hills.

He was going home and leaving Rimfire far behind.

THE END


End file.
